Sweet Nightmares
by TheMortition
Summary: After the Irish War for Independence ends, England begins having dreams of his older brother, the Republic of Ireland. The good thing is that his older brother is happy and loves him. The bad thing is that the real Ireland still resents him and is suffering. Which is better? The Ireland in his dreams or the Ireland in real life? Rated T for cursing and violence.
1. The End to the War for Independence

This is my second Engand story! I've been meaning to get to this for some time now, but I've been really busy lately.

Read this before you continue or you won't understand this so well.

Nation: Ireland

Name: Seamus O'Conner (he use to be a Kirkland before he gained his independence)

Age: Looks like he's 25-years-old.

Description: Short orange hair (it's straight in the front but very messy in the back [no, not like emo/scene hair]), green eyes, half-rimmed glasses, bushy eyebrows, and freckles along his face.

**Warning:** Yaoi, maybe some OOC-ness, incest, Irish stereotypes (I don't mean to offend if I hurt anyone's feelings), and I'm too serious so this fic may be less comedic.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Hetalia: Axis Powers, I wouldn't be writing any of this. I'd be busy making this become an episode, which I can't do because I don't have the skills or ideas of its respective creator, Hidekaz Himaruya. Simply put.

* * *

He walked through the forest with caution and stealth. It wasn't a very thick forest but it wasn't easy to locate his enemy. The sound of guns going off and shouting disabled him from hearing the footsteps of his opponent. The dark night didn't provide much help with seeing even though it was slightly clear tonight. He thanked the Heavens above that it wasn't raining again. Rain made everything complicated during battle.

England was looking for his older brother, Ireland. For about two and a half years now, they've been fighting over the red-haired nation's independence. England, of course, was opposed to his older brother's decision to become independent. He'd already lost America over a century before this. Losing another brother of his again was not an option.

Even though England didn't mean to, he was glad that he shot Ireland in the leg. As the Irish nation ran into the forest, he had left a trail of blood behind him without meaning to. The moon was able to reflect off of the splatters of blood as England followed them.

Suddenly, the trail of blood stopped. All that England could see was a small pool forming near a wide tree. He could bearly see the pool of blood slowly getting bigger.

_I found you,_ England thought to himself as he slowly walked toward the tree. He was starting to hear the faint pants of his older brother trying to regain his breath. There was also the sound of the Irishman's body sliding on the tree. England readied his rifle for an easy capture.

England was just getting to the tree, about to circle around it to capture his brother. Without warning, Ireland steps out from behind the tree, quickly raised his pistol, and made a random shot. Surprised, England accidentally pulled the trigger to his rifle and shot at Ireland. The British nation felt a sudden force go by his neck, bearly nicking the skin. Assuming it was Ireland's bullet, England considered himself lucky for the precise aim. However, Ireland was not too lucky.

Ireland gasped before coughing up blood onto England's boots. England stared down at the blood in shock for a second. It wasn't until Ireland looked up at him that he saw the blood leaking from his mouth. Not only that, but he saw where his bullet hit Ireland in his left side. The wound soaked his uniform in blood, turning it from a dark green into black.

Regaining his composure, England pointed his rifle at Ireland's chest just as the red-head raised his pistol to England's forehead. Their silent threat wasn't enough to make them surrender. How many wars have they been in where the enemy threatened to blow their heads off, or put a bullet through their chest?

"You want to give up now?" England asked, his voice ice cold.

Ireland stared at him before spitting up some more blood onto England's rifle. He looked at England with determination in his dark green eyes.

"Is it that bad?" England could bearly hear Ireland speak. Not understanding the question, England raised an eyebrow at him. Ireland spit out some more blood before continuing. "Is it that bad to where you have to point a gun at me, Deartháir Beag?" (T: Little Brother)

Ireland's term of endearment he used for England made the blond's eye twitch. England was the only one Ireland ever addressed as "Deartháir Beag." He called England this to express his affection towards him. Before the war had started, Ireland had gradually ceased to call England that before discontinuing it completely.

_Is he trying to make me feel guilt now?_ England thought before answering his brother.

"It was your decision to abandon us. You'll have to face the consequences."

"There you go again, England. Making this seem more than what it is."

"Isn't it the truth?"

"No. It's not. I'm doing this because I can't stand living with you."

"I thought you loved your brothers, South."

"I do. I love all of you. But I can't continue living under your roof."

"That's very disappointing to hear, South. I was hoping you'd come to your senses by now."

"I'm afraid you'll have to give up on those hopes. I won't stop until I've gained my freedom."

Hearing this, England felt himself rip apart inside. It was painful when he heard America say he was no longer the Brit's younger brother. Hearing Ireland's determination to fight for his independence, even as he's weakening from his wounds, was nearly heart breaking.

England thrusted his gun at Ireland's chest, forcing him to back up against the tree. Ireland squeezed his eyes shut and hissed out in pain as he was forced to put pressure on his injured leg. The Irish nation was also forced to drop his pistol to the ground from the sudden action and the pain shooting through his body.

"Are you sure you don't want to surrender and come back home? I'm sure, if you cooperate, everyone will forgive you. Even North."

"But, England, my people won't go along with that. There will be more rebellions, violence to your people, and possibly another war."

"I'm sure you can pull a few strings to get them under control."

Ireland stared at England with shock written on his face. England knew this would upset Ireland but how else would things work out after this war was over?

Slowly, Ireland's face dropped into a desperate and weak expression. England looked hopeful. It was about time Ireland went along with what he was saying. Now the war will end and almost everything will go back to normal. England would have to write a few laws and policies to ensure Ireland's people don't act out again, but all of that will be figured out later. Right now England was just satisfied with Ireland's surrender.

Ireland pulled out a dagger from his coat pocket. As England looked at the weapon in the moonlight, he noticed it wasn't just any dagger.

Quickly, England moved his left hand down to his coat pockets to feel that his dagger was gone. His ceremonial dagger he used for his rituals was missing. Rather, it was in Ireland right hand.

"Missing something?" Ireland taunted, a look of apathy in his eyes now. England stared him in the eyes, anger now evident on his face.

"When did you get that?" England asked while gritting his teeth.

"Just moments ago when we were fighting. While you were busy trying to force me away, I stole your dagger without you even realizing it. I thought you would've noticed but I guess not."

"You don't expect to use that, do you?" England's voice was more mocking than worried. He was sure that Ireland wouldn't be able use that.

"What would be the point of taking it if my objective wasn't to use it for its proper purpose?"

"You need more than a dagger. You know that, right?"

"I know." Ireland loosened his tie to reveal his collar that binds him to the United Kingdom. England had given them magic collars that physically bounded his brothers to him. Each collar had a lock with no key hole. This made it impossible to remove by normal means. To permanently remove it, England would have to cut off the lock while chanting a spell. The problem wasn't taking England's dagger. The problem was knowing the spell England would have to use.

**"I give permission to release this creature from its retraints and to lift the burden of my ownership off its shoulders,"** Ireland recited aloud before thrusting the point of the dagger into the lock. He twisted the dagger into the lock as it began to crack, a small yellow glow coming from the break in the cursed metal. **"Release this creature from my grasp and let it wander away from my power."** Pieces of the lock were chipping off, the crack getting bigger and the light from it increasing.

"No!" England shouted uselessly. The holder of the dagger held the power. It didn't matter if it was England or Ireland who said the spell, the object had to obey the magic being performed. England couldn't stop the process either. An interruption in any spell can be dangerous. England had no control in this ritual.

The lock was starting break off. Ireland twisted into it a final time before shouting out the last of the spell.

**"I command you to lift the curse over this creature and let it be free of me!"**

Ireland pulled the dagger, cutting the lock off and causing the yellow light to shine brightly between them. Ireland looked away from the blinding light while England put his hand in front of his eyes, trying to see past the brightness.

The light soon dispersed and the sudden sound of metal breaking was heard. The two nations watched as the chain that once bounded them together dangled from England's neutral green collar. Ireland's collar that was of a dark green fabric, fell to the ground between them. All around the edge of the collar were small indentions of Ireland's feeble attempts to cut it off of his neck.

A wave of different emotions swept through England at that moment. He was disappointed by Ireland's act. He was sad that Ireland forced himself out of the United Kingdom without waiting for the war to end. He was angry that Ireland knew how to free himself from England. He was also confused as to how Ireland even knew the spell.

England stomped on Ireland injured leg, hearing him whimper out his pain. At this point, England had forgotten that the nation in front of him was his older brother. All he cared about was showing how mad he was at Ireland for doing this.

"You stupid git! How in the bloody hell did you figure out the spell?!"

"I looked it up in one of our books. I honestly thought you used your own spell or something more complicated. But the Binding Curse? I thought you would've done something challenging."

The Binding Curse was a simple spell many would use to take control or ownership over a human, animal, or any other creature. England didn't think his brothers would try to break away from him until the night Ireland declared his independence. Even then, he wasn't expecting Ireland to figure out the spell he used.

"Why did you do that?! This could've been settled without you having to do that!"

"I had no other choice. We both know you would've never let me go. This was the only option."

"No it wasn't you idiot! You know it doesn't always end in someone's defeat or surrender!"

"I know. But whose to say you'd actually result to proposing a truce?"

"I do!" England lowered his rifle and extended his hand out to Ireland. The red-head stared at his younger brother's hand for a moment before looking back up at him.

"What is this, England? It's over."

"As far as I can hear, there's still a war raging on. I'm only willing to agree to a truce. This way it's official and no one will know about this. Not that anyone really needs to."

Ireland continued to stare at him until he had to spit out some more blood onto the ground. He could feel his body weakening. He wouldn't last much longer if he tried to defy England any more.

Ireland extended his shaky hand to England's and grasped it. They shook in a firm agreement before Ireland released his hand and fell to the ground.

"You're so prideful. It'll destroy you one day, you know?"

"Enjoy your independence, Republic of Ireland," England sneered, ignoring his brother's previous statement.

Ireland slowly stopped moving, his eyes closed, his head resting on his military cap, his wounds still spilling blood. England turned away and walked out of the forest. Another one of his brothers ran away from him. Both had declared their independence and fought hard to win it. They both succeeded.

"Where were you?" one of England's soldiers demanded, "We couldn't find you anywhere!"

"I was discussing things with Southern Ireland."

"And?"

"It's over. We called for a ceasefire."

"A ceasefire? So that means-"

"We agreed to end this without anyone winning or losing."

_We'll see how long you can go before you come running back to us,_ Republic of Ireland.

* * *

The idea about the collar connecting the countries around England to him as the United Kingdom was inspired from Himaruya's Gakuen game. In the game, Seychelles goes to the same academy as the rest of the characters in Hetalia. When she gets there, England puts a collar around her neck and tells her she's now one of his colonies. This pretty much motivated me into doing this because I thought it would be kind of interesting.

Sorry if the spell doesn't sound so great.

If you haven't caught on to this, England adresses Ireland as "South" because Ireland hadn't seperated from the United Kingdom yet. Since Ireland and his twin, North (obviously, the northern part of Ireland), were not yet seperated, they were nicknamed "North" and "South."


	2. Name Change

With the war between England and Ireland over with, they now have to change their names. A little dispute after the arrangement motivates Northern Ireland to further separate from Ireland. This also causes England to remember about the day the twins became a part of him.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I'm sorry it's kind of short.

Also! I don't really know what happens when you get your name changed, so if this seems odd or completely wrong, I'm sorry.

* * *

"Put the name you currently have here and the one you're changing over to here."

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland were all gathered in front of the judge to have the Irelands' names changed. England's name also had to be changed because Ireland as a whole wasn't a part of him anymore.

Ireland, North, and England took turns signing the document before giving it back to the judge. The judge looked it over before addressing them.

"The southern part of Ireland. You wish to change your name to the Irish Free State, correct?"

"Yes, your honor."

"The northern part of Ireland. You wish to change your name to Northern Ireland, correct?"

"Yes, your honor."

"And, finally, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. You wish to have your name changed to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, correct?"

"Yes, your honor."

"It's official then." The judge put his seal of agreement on the documents before putting them away. A copy of the documents will be given to them later on.

"So, we'll be going home now, England?" Wales, their eldest brother, asked.

"Yes. There's nothing more for us to do here."

England turned to leave but stopped when he heard Ireland ask the judge a question.

"Your honor, would it be possible for me to change my human name as well?"

Everyone but the judge looked at Ireland in surprise. England turned around to stare at his older brother in confusion.

"What more do you want to change, Seamus?"

"If I'm no longer a part of the United Kingdom, wouldn't I have to change my last name as well?"

"What would ever give you that idea?"

Ireland looked at England with resentment in his eyes.

"I'm no longer a part of this 'family' by breaking away, am I?"

"Of course you are! Why would you ever think-"

"Well, technically, he's right," the judge replied, "By splitting away from the United Kingdom, the Irish Free State is considered his own independent nation. So, yes, having his last name changed would benefit him."

"We don't have to do this right now, do we?" England asked, making sure he sounded more annoyed than upset.

"It will only take a few minutes," Ireland answered before turning his attention back to the judge. The judge pulled out another document and showed Ireland where to sign. After doing so, the judge went over the change with him.

"Mr. Seamus Kirkland. You wish to have your human name changed to Mr. Seamus O'Connor, correct?"

"Yes, your honor."

England watched in horror as the judge finalized the document. Not only had Ireland changed his name but he dropped his last name as well. The name he and his brothers shared for centuries. The name that was their only connection as brothers was now replaced by a more Irish name. This was a huge slap in the face for England.

The brothers filed out of the court-house into the cloudy December day. Scotland pulled out a pack of cigarettes and began smoking.

"So, _now_ do we go home, your highness?" Scotland mocked his youngest brother. England became irritated quickly and turned to look at his older brother.

"Yes, Scotland, we're going home now," the Englishman said through gritted teeth.

Once the brothers were out of sight of the court-house, Northern Ireland punched his twin in the back of the head. The older twin staggered forward for a moment before turning to look at his attacker.

"What in the bloody hell was that for?"

"You idiot! How dare you change your last name! Do you really think you're not our brother anymore?"

"What's the point in keeping the name when I'm no longer a part of you?"

"You're still our brother no matter how you look at it!"

"This was my decision, North... Northern Ireland. A decision I've made to express my independence."

Northern Ireland stared at him for a moment before the look of anger grew on his face.

"Are you saying... you don't want to be our brother anymore?"

"North, that's not what I'm say-"

Northern Ireland slapped Ireland across the right cheek roughly. A red mark formed over the older twin's freckles as the pain slowly ceased. Ireland looked at his brother calmly. Northern Ireland was really upset with him. He didn't blame his younger twin.

"Don't ever call me that again, Irish Free State."

Ireland turned around and walked away from his brothers. They all knew the separation wouldn't be easy, especially on the twins. The Irish Free State and Northern Ireland were always so close. Northern Ireland, usually so shy and reserved, was always by Ireland's side. They'd never spent a single day apart until Ireland declared his independence. That was when they started sleeping in different rooms and avoiding each other.

Today, Northern Ireland had finally let his true feelings show. He wasn't just uncomfortable with being apart from Ireland. He didn't like that Ireland seemed to not want anything to do with their family anymore.

England was taking this pretty hard too. He and Ireland use to be so close before he pulled him and his twin into the United Kingdom. Everything was so perfect. They were all together as one kingdom in England's house. Even if his brothers were unbearable, he at least had Ireland.

Sadly, Ireland didn't share that same feeling with England. He was always finding an excuse to stay out of the house and avoided England at almost all costs. England thought Ireland just needed time to adjust but Ireland continued to act this way. He eventually realized that Ireland was uncomfortable being in the United Kingdom. He didn't come to this conclusion until it was too late, however.

England could remember so clearly about the day he made Ireland and Northern Ireland a part of the United Kingdom. It was a few decades after America had gained his independence. It was a very sad moment in England's life, Ireland's revolution being just as depressing.

* * *

Ireland and his twin brother, nicknamed North for his representation of the northern part of the island, were busy farming one morning. It was sunny that day and the sun's merciless rays beamed down upon them as they worked. Despite the hot day, the two laughed and joked about numerous things to pass the time.

From almost out of nowhere, England showed up with his hands hidden behind his back. The twins didn't notice him as they continued to work and converse with each other. England came closer to let his presence be known.

"Hello, North and South," England said in a slightly cheerful voice. The two stopped at what they were doing to look over at England. North looked annoyed at the sight of England. He, like his older brothers, didn't really care for the British nation. South, on the other hand, looked happy to see him. Unlike his brothers, South actually loved his youngest brother England.

"What do you want, England?" North asked, his annoyance thick in his voice.

"Oh, hello Deartháir Beag!" South said happily, "What brings you here?"

"I just wanted to propose something to you two," England answered South. He ignored North, who was growing more annoyed the longer he stared at England.

"What would that be, Deartháir Beag?"

"I want you and North to join me in the United Kingdom. That way, we can all be together as one."

This didn't seem to faze North while South wore a worried look. The southern part of Ireland had watched as his youngest brother formed a union with their two oldest brothers Scotland and Wales. He wasn't sure how they felt about the union. For some reason, when England said he wanted them in the United Kingdom, South had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"I'm not sure about this, England," South told his brother, "I mean, North and I are doing fine on our own."

"Really? Are you sure you don't wish to be closer to our brothers?"

"We don't have to be united to still be brothers, Deartháir Beag." South put a hand on England's head and ruffled the messy blond locks. "Things are fine as they are."

"But I went through the trouble of making these for you." England pulled out two collars from behind his back, one a pale green, the other a dark green.

"What are those for, you little freak?" North asked, eyeing the collars in disgust.

"They bind us together as the United Kingdom. See? Like this."

Before the twins could even blink, England wrapped the collars around their necks and clicked the lock shut. A chain formed from the collars and connected Northern and Southern Ireland to The United Kingdom of Great Britain. They were now part of the United Kingdon.

"England!" South's mood changed immediately as he tried to tug the collar off. "Why did you do this?! I thought I told you we didn't want to join!"

"That's the point." England's voice became eerily calm as he spoke. "You wouldn't have joined willingly so this was the only way."

"You little brat!" North raised his rake to strike at England but South stopped him.

"North, violence won't solve anything. But, England, I'm asking you again. Why did you do this?"

"So that we can be together as one happy little family. United under one roof, never to separate."

There was an unsettling silence between them as England smiled up at his brothers. The look in his eyes said everything South needed to know.

_You're not running away from me like America did._

"What the hell are we suppose to tell people when they see these things around our necks?" North broke the silence.

"Oh, they won't see them," England replied, "You see, the collars are magic. Only those who can see supernatural creatures like us will be able to see them. So, don't worry about any of the other nations thinking that something's going on."

England walked off, leaving this incident to faze the twins. South looked down at the chain that connected him to England with distaste. He raised his shovel and brought it down hard onto the chain. Nothing. He brought the shovel down harder, again and again, getting more frantic when nothing happened.

South finally stopped when he ran out of strength to continue hitting the chain. He pulled the chain up for him to examine. Not even a dent was made into the metal. He threw the chain down in frustration.

"By the way," England, who had been watching the whole thing in amusement, said suddenly, "If you try to break the chain or collar, it won't be easy. You can bring an ax to the chain or a knife to the collar and you won't come close to tearing them apart."

It would take hours later for South to give up on sawing the collar off with a razor to realize England was right. England saw the indentions where South tried to cut through the fabric of the collar in vain. Again, he thought South just needed to adjust. He had no idea he was pushing South to make the decision to become independent. He wouldn't know until almost a century later that South did this because of him.


	3. The First Night

After Ireland (the Irish Free State) and Northern Ireland's little dispute, the brothers return home to try and resume their normal lives. England's life is just about to get a little interesting tonight.

* * *

After the incident between Northern Ireland and the Irish Free State, the brothers went home to relax. Or at least try to. Northern Ireland was stuck in his room sulking over the events that led to this day. England was trying to distract himself with his embroidery, which wasn't working. All he could think about was Ireland. The way he looked at him in absolute hatred. The way he spoke to him with resentment in his voice but spoke to Northern Ireland calmly. The way he walked off without another word as if he turned his back on them for good.

The Englishman pricked himself with his needle once he heard a familiar French accent outside the window. He turned his body to face the window and pulled the curtain away slightly to see outside.

Sure enough, France was outside talking to Ireland. How they got along so well, England will never know. He couldn't even stand the sight of the French nation, yet Ireland can be in front of him with a kind smile on his face. That warm, kind smile. The smile he hasn't seen Ireland wear for years.

England was a little jealous. Seeing Ireland be so kind to the one nation England hated was insulting. Besides, why did France deserve to see Ireland smile like that? What did France do to deserve that? Sure, they were best friends but why was he so special?

England knew the answer without having to think about it. Through the years, no matter what happened, France never did anything truly bad to Ireland. Besides making some passes and suggesting things, France never hurt Ireland. France never came close to doing the things England did.

"So, did you finally have your name changed?" France asked the red-head. Ireland smiled contentedly and nodded his head.

"Tá! As of today, my name is the Irish Free State!" (T: Yes!)

"'The Irish Free State?' Well, it's better than calling you 'South' in the presence of your brother. Was his name changed, as well?"

"Tá. He's Northern Ireland now."

"Not very original."

"Well, he does represent the northern half. Or, rather, he use to. Only six counties wanted to stay in the United Kingdom, so he represents them."

"Speaking of which, did Eyebrows have to change his official name too? I mean, he doesn't have all of Ireland anymore." England could bearly hear the mocking tone in the Frenchman's voice. If only he could be there to strangle him.

"England's now the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland."

"Very straight forward. It's still a very long name, though."

"It's a good thing it's not his nickname. That would get old really quick."

"I prefer Eyebrows."

"Why do you call him that? Mine are much worse than his."

"Yours have a different feel to them."

Ireland looked at him with a quizzical expression before shaking his head.

"France, sometimes I wonder what goes through your head."

"Many things, mon ami. Many things." (T: my friend)

The two soon began walking off, talking along the way. England assumed they were going to a pub to get drunk out of their minds. Or, at least France would get drunk out of his mind. Ireland and his twin seem to take a long time getting drunk.

England sighed and went back to his embroidery. It never bothered him this much to see Ireland and France talk as they usual do. He didn't necessarily like that they were friends in the first place but it wasn't always a pain to see them together. Even when Ireland and France started the rebellions, it didn't get to England that they were always by each other's side.

"What's happening to me?" England asked himself in a low voice.

"You're turning into a stalker." England looked up to see Scotland leaning against the door frame, cigarette between his fingers.

"What do you want, Scotland?"

"I just came in to tell you that lunch is ready, but I saw you were busy and decided to watch."

"And you're calling me a stalker."

"I was standing here the whole time. Not behind a pair of thin-as-paper curtains."

"So you were spying on me watching South?"

"I believe it's the other way around and he's not South anymore, remember? He's the Irish Free State."

"He could've went with something like 'the Republic of Ireland' or something like that."

"He's not the whole island of Ireland."

"And Northern Ireland isn't the whole northern part of the island either. He's just six counties."

"And yet, someone like you represents the United Kingdom."

"What are you trying to get at?!"

"Big Brother?" Northern Ireland appeared from behind the wall next to Scotland. "Is lunch ready, yet?"

"Yeah. Help yourself." Scotland looked over at England before taking a huge inhale of his cigarette. "Are you going to sit there or are you going to eat?"

England tossed his craft aside on the other end of the couch, and walked into the kitchen with his older brother.

* * *

Night had long since darkened the sky and now it was time for the island nations to go to bed.

England climbed into bed, Ireland still on his mind. Today was not a good day. No day was ever considered good after Ireland split away. If it weren't for England's magical friends, he probably would've gone insane a long time ago.

Switching the lamp light off, England relaxed into a comfortable position under his brown coverlet. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Ireland was doing okay at his house. Though his brothers lived with him, they also had their separate houses in their capitols. England, representing himself and the United Kingdom as a whole, only had his house in London. This is where the nations of the United Kingdom stayed at most of the time.

England drifted off to sleep but woke up what seemed like moments later. He tried to will himself to go back to sleep but, for some reason, didn't feel the least bit tired.

England then shifted into a more comfortable position. Nothing. He tried to clear his mind of all thoughts. Nothing. He counted sheep to himself. He grew bored and stopped counting after realizing that boredom wasn't doing the trick. He even tried to remember one of Germany's tedious lectures from past meetings. How that didn't work was beyond him.

_Maybe some nice warm tea will help me relax,_ England thought to himself. He pulled on his night coat before exiting his bedroom as quietly as he could. He didn't want to disturb his brothers as they slept. Any one of them can be quite terrifying if woken up in the middle of the night.

Opening the door, England was blinded by a bright light. All he could see was light coming out of the outside of his door, disabling him to see past the brightness. Alarmed, England slammed the door shut, forgetting his fear of waking his brothers.

When England turned to face his room, however, he realized a sudden change. He wasn't in his room anymore. He was outside of his house. It was sunny and the temperature was moderate. It wasn't cold and snow didn't cover every inch of ground. In fact, it was more like a spring day, with the trees and bushes around his house in full bloom.

Perplexed, England looked around to make sure it was all a dream. It could easily be a spell someone placed on him for his or her own personal reason. Although, the atmosphere was too warm and calming to be something sinister.

England looked down to see that his night clothes were replaced with his every day clothes. His white button up shirt, green sweater vest, red tie, beige trousers, and brown dress shoes. Everything was neat and exact.

_Should I go inside?_ England thought to himself as he surveyed the place for a moment longer. Slowly, he turned the knob and opened the door.

The inside hadn't changed at all. The only difference was that it was much brighter than it usually was. Just like the scene outside, the inside held a feeling of warmth and joy.

"Deartháir Beag? Are you home?" England jumped at the sound of someone else's voice. He wasn't expecting to encounter another person in this dream or spell or whatever he was in.

_Wait... That voice..._

A person walked into the front room where England was standing. He had long orange hair that bearly reached his shoulders. The back of his head was a rat's nest of unevenly cut and coarse hair. His cheerful face lit up in a bright smile, dark green eyes staring at him behind half-rimmed glasses that rested above freckles. He wore a dark green jumper over a plain white button up shirt, brown trousers, and his favourite black and green striped socks.

"South?"

"Welcome home, Deartháir Beag." Ireland walked over to England and pulled him into a warm embrace. England was so taken aback by this, he became stiff at the gesture. He wasn't sure whether he should accept the hug and pull away.

_What's going on? This better be a dream. If this is someone's cruel joke, I swear I'll-_

"Is there something wrong, Deartháir Beag?"

"Why are you calling me that?"

"I've been calling you that since you were young. Have you grown to detest it?"

"No. That's not it..."

"What is it?" The look in Ireland's eyes was that of concern and worry. It was as though Ireland thought he'd done something wrong and was trying to apologize for it. No resentment. No hatred.

"I've just had a long day," England replied. He decided to go along with this. Maybe he'll figure out what's going on and get some answers.

"Do you want to talk about it? I'll prepare some tea if you'd like."

"I guess we can."

"Okay." The smile returned to Ireland's face. The kind, happy smile he use to wear before England made him a part of the United Kingdom. It brought a very warm feeling to England.

"Sit in the living room while I prepare the tea, Deartháir Beag."

"Okay..."

England sat on the couch and thought about the current situation. He felt too lucid for this to be a dream. He also couldn't sense or detect anything supernatural or out of the ordinary. He wasn't really sure what was going on or why it was happening.

Moments later, Ireland came in with a tray, the kettle of tea and two cups on it. He sat the tray on the coffee table in front of them and took a seat next to England on the couch. As Ireland was pouring the tea, England couldn't help but feel comfort having the Irishman close to him.

"Sorry there isn't any cream or sugar. Big Brother and Eldest were suppose to buy more yesterday but never got around to doing it."

"Oh, that's fine. I can bear with it."

Ireland waited until England had finished sipping his tea to begin speaking to him again.

"So, how was your day, Deartháir Beag?"

"Not too good."

"Would you care to explain?"

England thought about what to say before blurting out everything that happened today. He wasn't sure if he should bring up the war or the recent name change.

"Before I begin, can I ask you something?"

"Anything Deartháir Beag."

"Was there... a dispute between us?"

"Dispute?"

"Yeah. Or anything negative that happened to us within the last several months?"

Ireland stared at him for a moment before saying, "Besides that time I took France's side in one of your debates, no. I can't think of anything."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Is there something going on?"

"N-No. Just something Scotland said."

England was starting to become a little more confused. This couldn't possibly be before the war. Ireland wasn't this nice to him when he became part of the United Kingdom. He even stopped calling him "Deartháir Beag" and being affectionate with him.

"Deartháir Beag. I told you to not listen to him. Remember what I said to him after you spoke to me?"

"Ummmm... very vaguely..."

"I told him I would never leave you. Remember?"

England had to look down into his tea cup at the reflection to make sure he didn't suddenly change into Northern Ireland. It sounded like something Ireland would only tell his twin. Strangely, though, it was his face that stared back at him. No trace of Northern Ireland on his face.

"I-I think..."

"Don't lie, Deartháir Beag! You remember!" Ireland chuckled before ruffling England's hair. It felt the same way Ireland use to ruffle his hair long ago. At least before he was put into the United Kingdom.

The rest of the day was spent conversing about different things. Ireland talked about his crops and how he's doing better at his house. England talked about his rather depressing day, excluding having to change his name and how Ireland and Northern Ireland ended up fighting.

It started to slowly get darker the longer they sat in the living room. England hadn't realized how fast time was flying by or that they'd been talking most of the day. It seemed a bit unnatural how time passed so quickly.

"Are you hungry, Deartháir Beag? I could make you something."

"No. I'm good."

"Then, do you want to go to bed? You have another big day ahead of you."

"Yay... another day of paper work and dealing with my brothers..."

"That's why you need your rest. That way you'll be able to face the day without feeling cranky."

"I think that's our brothers' affect on me." Ireland chuckled at his youngest brother before ruffling his hair again.

"Go to bed, Deartháir Beag. I'll be here when you come home."

England walked upstairs to his room. Everything was the same but with a different feeling to it. Maybe it was because of the mysterious absence of his other brothers. Things tend to be more peaceful when it's only England in the house.

Changing into his night clothes again and climbing into bed, England settled himself into a comfortable position. He wasn't sure if this meant he was falling asleep in this place and if he was going to return to reality or not. What he did know was that his body was steadily growing more tired as he lay in bed.

Moments later, he was stirred by the early beams of the morning light. Though the light was bright enough to cause discomfort to his eyes, it was only another dull gloomy day. Nothing like what he experienced moments ago.

_A dream..._ England thought as he stared at the clock on his night stand. _It was only a dream..._

* * *

I read somewhere that Himaruya's plan for an Ireland character would be a nation with eyebrows worse than England's, but with a "different feel" to them. Not sure what that looks like, but we'll go with it ^^"

When Ireland decided to become independent, six counties in the north eastern part didn't want to go along with the revolution. Instead, they stayed in the United Kingdom and became what is known today as Northern Ireland.


	4. More Than Mere Coincidence

Pretty weird dream, huh? Well, it's the next morning and that's the only thing on England's mind. After having another dream similar to last night's, he becomes suspicious. Maybe these aren't dreams at all...

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! It's a little short but oh well!

* * *

Through most of the morning, England's mind was occupied with thoughts of Ireland again. This time it was about his dream. If you could call it a dream. England was still not sure what happened last night.

It was very strange for a dream. What would've led him to dream about Ireland? He hadn't dreamt of him once after the war was over. Why now? Why was it such a happy dream, too? You'd think that dreaming about your brother splitting away from you would prompt bad dreams or old memories. Neither of this happened.

"Hey, are you even listening?"

England felt something jab the side of his head. He looked over to see Scotland pull his fork away from him and place it on his mostly empty breakfast plate.

"I zoned out," England said without apologizing, "What's going on?"

"Nothing. It wasn't important."

"Then what was the point in getting my attention?"

"You looked a little spacey. That's why."

"You make no sense sometimes."

Most of his day was uneventful. By afternoon, England found himself in the living room, reading the newspaper. All it talked about was the current Depression effecting the nations. England had no doubt it will hit Ireland pretty hard as well.

England glanced out the window at Ireland's house. As usual, the red-haired nation was farming. He was wrapped up to guard himself from the winter air and prevent any air-bourne illnesses. It was such a shame that all that land is his to farm all by himself.

England looked away from the window, telling himself it was no longer his concern over Ireland's well-being. It didn't really comfort him as he tried reading further into the newspaper. His mind kept drifting off and he was starting to not comprehend what he was reading. He eventually gave up and went into another room to preoccupy himself.

Finally, it was time for bed. England was expecting another restless sleep instead of another occurence like last night. It was weird, yes, but it was probably a one-time thing. If it were really a dream, the chances of it happening again tonight would be pretty slim.

England laid in bed and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come soon. He was able to drift off but was, again, awakened moments later. This time, England stayed in his bed. Maybe, if he laid there long enough, he'll drift off again.

10 minutes passed by and England couldn't find himself nodding off into dreamland. 20 minutes went by. His eyes weren't even heavy or begging to be closed. A total of 35 minutes elapsed and England was still wide awake.

_Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep._ England repeated over and over in his head. Obviously, that wasn't working. It was more of a command to his subconscious than a way of meditating himself into sleeping.

A knock at his bedroom door interrupted England's thoughts. He wasn't sure why one of his brothers were knocking on his door at this hour of the night. If they wanted something, they would've just walked into his room and shaken him awake.

_Who is that? Why are they knocking on my door like that?_

The knocking continued but became more frequent. It quickly became an incessant noise that irritated the Brit's ears.

_Don't they know that there are three other people in the house? One of my brothers is going to kill who ever's behind the door._

The knocking grew louder, almost sounding like banging against the door. England didn't hear anything but that. None of his brothers had woken up to investigate the noise or to yell at the intruder.

England curled up into the fetal position and pulled the covers over his head. He wasn't scared. Realizing this must be a similar dream to last night's, he tried to wake himself up.

_Ignore the noise. It isn't there. It's just a dream. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!_

"Deartháir Beag! Wake up!"

_No. That's not possible... I'm in this place again?_

"Deartháir Beag! I gave you five more minutes to sleep, now get up!"

_Maybe if I pretend I'm not here, he'll go away._

England heard the door open and footsteps approach his bed. There was a small chuckle before he felt hands gently shake him.

"Deartháir Beag, you have to get up. If you sleep too much, you'll be up all night."

England continued to ignore him, hoping that he'll give up eventually.

"England..." he heard Ireland's voice close to his ear, "If you don't get up, I'll throw you off the bed..."

England continued to lay there in silence. He wasn't sure if he should move or still ignore him. He was finding it difficult to wake himself up. It didn't help that Ireland was leaning over him, whispering threats into his ear.

"Okay. You asked for it." Suddenly, the covers were lifted off the bed, revealing England's curled up body. He automatically jumped and sat up straight on the bed.

"Okay! I'm up!" England yelled defensively. Ireland gave him an amused grin before pulling England off the bed.

"I know you need your rest but you don't have to overdo it."

"I wasn't trying to."

"Well, now that you're up, you can help me fix dinner."

"I slept that late?"

"Yeah, but that was partly my fault for giving you a few extra minutes."

"No. You're fine."

Going along with what Ireland was saying, England was still surprised that he ended up in this place again. This was a little too coincidental for this to be a dream. There's no way this could still be a dream.

Nonetheless, England still went along with what was going on and cooked dinner with Ireland. Even though almost every nation in the world said England's cooking was terrible, Ireland always disagreed. He wouldn't say anything negative except that the recipe needed some work. Though this was nothing more than mere advice, it made England happy to hear Ireland say it wasn't bad.

It didn't occur to England until they were setting the table that his other brothers were nowhere to be found. Northern Ireland wasn't stuck to his twin's side as he usual was. The stench from Scotland's cigarette smoke was erased from the air. Wales wasn't poking his head through the door to see if things are going okay. It was usually so rare for England to be in the house alone.

"Where are our brothers?" England asked out of curiosity.

"Oh, you were asleep while Scotland and Wales were arguing."

"What were they arguing over? Not that I really care or anything."

"Then it shouldn't matter."

"What about Norther- I mean, North. What happened to him? He's usually always with you."

"He and Scotland are out drinking. They asked if I wanted to come along but I turned them down."

"_You_ turn down an opportunity to _drink_? Is there something wrong with you?"

It truly is a surprise to hear Ireland turn down a chance to go drinking. He will almost always agree to go if you ask. It's very rare for Ireland to not go drinking when opportunity striked. It was only when there was an emergency or shortage that Ireland refused to drink.

"No. Unless you think there's something wrong with me spending time with my deartháir beag."

England blushed slightly from Ireland's words and turned his head away from him. Ireland has said some more embarrassing things than that before. Mostly during their childhood when he didn't realize the things he was saying were a little much. His affection for England always seemed a little bit much more than brotherly love. Northern Ireland had once stated that he was more of a father than a brother to England.

"Deartháir Beag? Are you embarrassed?"

"No."

"You're embarrassed, aren't you?"

"No! You just say weird things."

"What's weird about saying I want to spend time with you?"

"I'm not use to you acting this way toward me."

Ireland grew silent, causing England to look up at him. The red-head gave England a sincere look before ruffling his hair again.

"I know. I've been very busy lately and haven't had time to give you as much attention. But don't worry. That'll change."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to spend more time with you. Every day."

"Every day? Without fail?"

"I shall try my best!"

Without meaning to, England asked, "Why?" He was thinking about what things were like in the real world. In real life, Ireland wouldn't have anything to do with him. He wouldn't stick up for him like he use to or support him. The very sight of England probably disgusts him now.

Ireland looked down at England with a look that said 'isn't it obvious?' He put his hands on England's shoulders and gave him a reassuring smile.

"Because I love you, Deartháir Beag."

England blushed once more as Ireland chuckled at his reaction. He looked down at the floor before saying, "You really are embarrassing, you know that?"

"Do you really think that?"

"Yes."

"Get use to it."

Ireland pat England on the head before going back into the kitchen to prepare the meal. England's blush remained as he followed Ireland into the kitchen to help set up.

The evening went by as simply as the night before. Ireland and England ate their dinner and made conversation. They talked and laughed about their day as any family would. Not once did it hit England that his other brothers hadn't return home. He was too pre-occupied with his conversation with Ireland.

It was soon time to go to bed as the grandfather clock in the living room began to chime. Ireland gathered the dirty dishes and headed to the kitchen.

"Go to bed, Deartháir Beag. I'll clean up the dishes."

"Are you sure? I could help."

"It's okay. It's not much. Really."

"Okay. If you say so."

"Oíche mhaith, Deartháir Beag." (T: Good night, Little Brother)

"Good night, South."

Just as it occured the night before, England closed his eyes as he laid down in his bed before waking up in the real world. He was really starting to think that something was going on. If this were a dream then tonight's events would've been the same as the night before. Since they were different, that could only mean that someone's cast a spell or curse on him. Acknowledging this, England knows he has to find a way to end this. For all he knows, someone could be doing this to discover his weaknesses and bring him down. Someone could also be torturing him if they know how much Ireland means to him.


	5. Dream Catcher

It's Christmas in the United Kingdom and everyone's celebrating. Even the Irish Free State has decided to come over for a little Christmas dinner with his brothers. Though this evening feels strange to England, there's something in store for him later tonight.

Enjoy everyone! It's a little past Christmas so consider this a late gift.

If I'm not on here tomorrow, I wish you all a happy New Year! Welcome the year 2013!

* * *

A week and a half passed by and England was still having the strange dreams. Though he had meant to find a way to end them, he never got around to it. Truthfully, he enjoyed the dreams. They reminded him of the days before Ireland became a part of the United Kingdom. Those happy days when Ireland didn't hate him.

It was the day before Christmas. This would be the first Christmas the family would spend incomplete. They've had years where they couldn't make it home for the holidays but this was different. Since Ireland was no longer with them, it always felt like something was missing.

As England was descending the stairs, he heard a knock at the door. He walked over to the door and opened it, revealing Ireland. He was standing outside the door, wrapped up in his winter clothes and wearing an emotionless expression. This was the face Ireland used only for England.

"Hello, Irish Free State. What brings you here?" England was a little surprised to see his brother here. He didn't expect him to ever return to the house or even come near it.

"America sent me this and I wanted to know if you or anyone else wanted it."

Ireland showed England a dream catcher. It was brown with feathers hanging off of strings under the catcher. England stared at the object for a moment before giving Ireland a confused look.

"A dream catcher? Why on earth would he give you that?"

"I don't know. Apparently France told him I was having problems sleeping, and he gave me this."

"If you don't want it, then just throw it away."

"That's inconsiderate, England."

"You'd know what being inconsiderate is like, wouldn't you?"

Ireland gave England an annoyed look before thrusting the dream catcher into England's chest.

"Do you want it or not?!"

"For God's sakes! I'll take it!"

"That's all you needed to do, England. Why do you have to make things complicated?"

"_I_ make things complicated?! And what exactly have you've done that was so perfect?!"

"Why in the hell am I still standing here talking to you? Good-bye, England!"

Ireland turned to leave as Wales came by to see what the yelling was about. He saw Ireland and began making conversation with him.

"Irish Free State! What brings you here?"

"Oh, Eld- I mean Wales!" The Irish nation's mood and voice instantly changed into a happier tone. "I just came by to drop something off. I won't bother you anymore-"

"Nonsense! Come in! It's really cold outside."

"I'm sorry, Wales. I have a lot of work to do. Maybe another time?"

"Surely you'll come by tomorrow, right? I mean, it's Christmas."

"I don't know. I'll be awfully busy tomorrow. I'll try."

"You should take at least one day off from work. It won't kill you."

"Yeah, but things are different now. I don't have as much... help as I use to. I can't miss a single day."

"Then what about later in the evening? You'll be free then, right?"

"Yes."

"Then it's set!"

"But, what about Northern Ireland? Won't he be upset?"

"I'll talk to him. I'm sure he misses you, too."

"Well, he sure has a way of saying it," Ireland muttered under his breath. Lately, he and Northern Ireland haven't been getting along. There has even been talk about a civil war coming between them.

"Trust me on this, okay?" Wales encouraged him, "I'll talk to him."

"All right. I'll come over. But the moment I realize I'm not welcome, I'm leaving."

"Okay. I'm sure it won't be anything like that."

"Slán." (T: Goodbye)

"Hwyl fawr." (T: Goodbye)

Ireland walked off, hugging himself through the cold winds. England watched his brother leave, both dreading and looking forward to the following night.

* * *

Having Ireland for Christmas put some of the brothers in lighter spirits. Northern Ireland didn't like having his twin so close to him again, but even he was in a better mood than usual. Wales welcomed his younger brother with open arms, signifying that the separation hasn't changed anything about their brotherhood. Scotland offered Ireland a drink once the younger nation walked in. He generously accepted it without complaint. England couldn't do anything more than shake the Irishman's hand and hang his coat and hat.

England was finding it awkward to be around Ireland. It was nothing like his dreams. He was expecting that. The happy Ireland that showered England with affection was only in his dreams. That's what made it so awkward.

England hadn't had the dreams that long, yet he was use to them. Having Ireland sit with them through dinner was now strange to England. Hearing his cheerful voice for real was almost unnatural. Seeing his smile was unreal. Why did only England feel this way?

_Maybe it's because he hasn't actually been here for a while,_ the Brit reasoned.

Instead of staying around for the other celebrations they usually had, Ireland left. He said he had plans to meet up with several other nations at the pub later that night. He also explained that he felt that he would be doing too much if he stayed for too long.

Despite his brothers urging him to stay and continue celebrating with him, Ireland insisted he had to leave. For a moment, England wondered if Ireland was feeling unwelcomed somehow.

Later that night, a drunk England found himself slowly drifting off into sleep. As usual, he and his brothers began drinking as they tend to do every year on Christmas. England had a little too much tonight. He wasn't even sure how he ended up in his room on his bed.

England turned his head to the right and caught the sight of the dream catcher lying on his night stand. He picked it up and stared at it through blury eyes. England knew what this was used for.

_Problems sleeping, huh? What keeps him up all night?_ England continued staring at it, tracing the lines that intertwined together with his eyes. _Not like this will help me. I haven't been having any bad dreams._

England sat up quickly, a little too quickly to where he almost fell back down. Propping himself on his elbow, an idea went through his mind as he stared hard at the dream catcher.

_Maybe... If this is suppose to ward off bad dreams... Maybe it will keep any bad magic from coming into these dreams._

England stood up slowly and hung the dream catcher on a nail next to the window. He wasn't even sure if this would work. He was willing to try it out, though.

The British nation returned to bed, wrapping himself up in the warm sheets. Before he knew it, he was back in the dream world he visits each night. His head was a little clearer, his sight less blurry, and he could walk properly. Apparently, whatever happens in the real world doesn't affect him in the dream world.

England walked down the stairs into the living room to find Ireland tending to the fire. He knew better than to speak or go near Ireland while he was concentrating on a certain task. The red-head had a strange tendency to attack anyone or anything that snuck up on him. Even if it was a dream, England didn't want to be hit in the face by a fireplace poker.

Once Ireland was finished messing with the flame, he put the poker away and looked up to see England. That bright smile of his returned to his face the moment he laid eyes on England. This time, the blond didn't feel uneasy when he saw that smile.

"Merry Christmas, Deartháir Beag!" Ireland greeted cheerfully. He walked over to England and pulled him into a warm embrace. England returned the hug, taking in the warmth and scent of his older brother.

"Merry Christmas, South."

"Do you want to go outside?" Ireland asked as he pulled away, "It's been awhile since we had a snowball fight or made a snowman."

"I guess we can do that. I'll get my coat."

Before England could turn to go up the stairs, Ireland grabbed his arm and pulled him back. As if pulling it out of thin air, Ireland pulled out England's coat from behind his back.

"It's right here, Deartháir Beag."

This wasn't the first time things appeared out of nowhere in the dreams. Seeing as they were only dreams (possibly, possibly not), logic didn't have to exist. Objects suddenly appearing, changes of scenery, and the absence of certain people who cause England distress are all part of this dream world.

"Oh. Thank you." England pulled on his coat while Ireland went to the door to put his coat on. After pulling on their gloves and wrapping their scarves around their necks, the two island nations went outside.

It was snowing when they came outside. The snow fell lightly from the sky, blowing delicately in the wind. The ground held several inches of pure white snow that had yet to be stepped on. It was beautiful. Never had England witnessed such a breath-taking scene.

"Wow," England whispered, "This is amazing."

"You know what else is amazing?"

England turned his head to the right and was about to ask "What?" when a chunk of snow hit his cheek. He was a little surprised for a minute before seeing Ireland bend down, and bunch up some snow in his hand. Before Ireland could finish his snow ball, England crouched down to make his own.

"You want to fight, huh?" England said to Ireland as they rose with their snowballs.

"Just like old times, Deartháir Beag."

"What are the rules?"

"Whoever gives in first loses. The winner choses his reward."

"All right. If I win..." England thought about Ireland's punishment for a moment before an idea went through his mind. "If I win, you'll have to wear one of Scotland's kilts."

"Okay. That's a little embarrassing but I can accept that. If I win then _you'll_ have to wear one of Scotland's kilts. I'll even pick it out for you."

"That won't be necessary."

"A little too confident, are we?"

"No. I know I'll win."

"We'll see, Deartháir Beag. We'll see."

Ireland threw his snowball but England dodged it. England threw his but Ireland jumped out of the way. They both crouched back down to the ground to make more snowballs, gathering them in their arms as they attacked each other.

An hour passed as their snowball fight raged on. By now, they were both cold with frost bite on their numbing fingers. That didn't stop them as they continued to fire snowballs at one another.

England threw his snowball at Ireland as the red-haired nation tried to dodge it. Ireland lost his footing, staggered, and fell to the ground. England ran over to him and sat on the Irishman's stomach before he could get up. As Ireland grabbed for some snow, England took his wrists and held them above his head. Ireland struggled to get free but with no avail.

"Do you give up?" England asked.

"Yes! I give up!" Ireland yelled, more amused than in distress.

"Will you ever underestimate the British Empire again?"

"No! I learned my lesson! I give up!"

England released his brother's wrists and got off of his stomach. They both laid there in the snow, watching as more steadily came down from the Heavens. They were both quiet and still, as if moving would somehow disrupt this peace.

England looked over at Ireland from the corner of his eye. The Irish nation had a look of content on his face as he stared up at the sky. His glasses were wet with snow from their battle and the falling flakes. His cheeks were red from the cold.

The British nation's heart began to beat a little faster as he continued to stare. This wasn't the first time this happened when he was near Ireland. He'd felt this way for quite some time. The first time he can remember this happening was when he was around his pre-teens. He can even remember the first time he brought it up to his fairies after months of feeling this way.

* * *

"What do you think's wrong with me?" England asked his fairies as he picked at a piece of grass.

"What exactly is it that's frightening you so badly?" one fairy with purple hair tied into a ponytail asked.

"Well... every time I get close to Ireland or whenever he's nice to me, my heart starts to race. Sometimes I feel warm in the cheeks and my palms get a little sweaty."

The fairies looked at each other for a moment before giggling together. England looked at them with alarm and confusion.

"What? What is it? What's wrong with me?"

"It's okay, England. You're in love."

"In... love...?"

"Yes. It's completely normal for people to feel this way."

"But... Ireland's my brother..."

"You're both nations, though. Does it still work that way even if you're nations?"

"I don't know... This is wrong, isn't it?"

"Do you plan to tell Ireland this?"

"He'll probably hate me if I do. Our other brothers might laugh if they knew."

"Maybe you should wait until you're older. By then you might be able to face him."

"Maybe..."

"Deartháir Beag!" England looked over to see Ireland running toward him. England blushed slightly as his older brother came over to him.

"I've been calling for you for five minutes, Deartháir Beag. Wales ordered a family meeting."

"Oh, sorry."

"It's okay, Deartháir Beag."

Ireland helped England up and they walked to the direction of their eldest brother's house. In the back of England's head, he wished that Ireland wasn't one of his brothers. Maybe then his feelings wouldn't be wrong to anyone else.

* * *

The blond frowned at the memory. He definitely got his wish. Ireland was no longer considered his brother even though he still looked at him as such. Officially, all ties were broken between them.

England sat up slowly as he looked at Ireland. The man was still staring up at the sky, a smile still on his face. He finally noticed England staring at him and sat up as well. Seeing the far away look in his little brother's eyes, Ireland grew concerned.

"Deartháir Beag? Is everything okay?"

England stayed quiet, going over the thoughts in his head.

_This is all a dream... Therefore, the Ireland in front of me isn't real... So... Even if someone was playing a trick on me, it won't matter if I..._

England leaned forward as Ireland repeated his previous question. Before Ireland even knew what was going on, England closed the space between them with a kiss. Ireland's lips were very soft and warm, making the Briton's heart beat faster against his chest.

The kiss was short. A little too short for England's liking but he felt that he needed to make it quick. Looking up at Ireland's shocked face, England was afraid he may have screwed everything up.

"England...?" Ireland asked in a low voice.

"I'm sorry!" England stood up quickly and turned to leave. Ireland grabbed his hand before he could get far and pulled him back down.

"England, don't run away. I'm not angry."

"Forget it. It didn't happen."

"It's okay, England." Ireland pulled England closer to him and wrapped his arms around him. England's head was buried in Ireland's chest, refusing to look the older nation in the eye.

"Answer me this one little question, England. Can you do that for me?"

The blond nodded his head into Ireland's chest. Ireland ran his fingers through England's messy hair as he asked his question.

"How long have you felt this way?"

England turned his head to where Ireland could hear his voice clearly.

"Ever since I was young."

"How young exactly?"

"I can't tell. Some time before I became a teenager, I think."

"That's a long time, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Can I tell you something, England?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You're going to tell me it's wrong. I already know it's wrong. I've known since the moment I realized my true feelings."

"I wasn't going to tell you that."

"Then what?" England raised his head to look at Ireland. "What more do you need to-"

Ireland silenced England with a kiss on the lips. England was more than shocked when he felt his older brother's lips on his once more. This time it was warmer, sweeter, and lasted a little longer than before.

When Ireland pulled away they were both blushing, England's cheeks a shade or so darker. Ireland gave England a small smile as he leaned forward again, his forehead resting against his younger brother's.

"I've always had a special liking to you, Deartháir Beag," the Irishman whispered. England blushed a little harder as he heard this. He couldn't believe this was happening.

"Thank you so much, South."

"Anything, Deartháir Beag. Now, if I remember correctly..." Ireland stood up, helping England to his feet. "I have several kilts to try on before Scotland kills me."

"Please. He'll give you a slap on the wrist for doing it. He'll murder me for coming up with the idea."

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

The island nations went inside to warm their limbs up and see Ireland parade around the house in a kilt. It was a strange but fun Christmas for England. It was better than the awkward dinner he faced with Ireland back in the house. It was also better than how he and his brothers finished off the evening with liquor.

Unfortunately for England, this happy moment will be the only thing he can savor for a while. Not long after the Christmas celebration, the Irish Free State and Northern Ireland began having horrible fights that led to be known as the Troubles. Even with this already on his mind, the start of the Second World War came around. England, along with France, declared war on Germany after the invasion of Poland.

At one point, England asked Ireland if he wanted to join him in the War. Ireland just stared at him and said, "I had to fight alongside you in the First World War. What makes you think I'll fight with you in the Second? I'll just save everyone some trouble and be neutral."

It was decided. While England fought against the Axis Powers, Ireland stayed home and tended to his crops. Despite all the madness in the beginning of the War, England was still able to dream of Ireland. That was the only thing keeping him going through the first year.


	6. Bad Dream

England gets sick and is forced to stay in bed. It's a very tiring day... until Ireland shows up unexpectedly. Or is it even the actual Ireland? Another dream version of him perhaps?

I hope you guys enjoy this even if it's a little short!

* * *

England laid in bed, slipping in and out of consciousness. He had come down with an illness that left him bed-ridden for two days now. He assumed it was because he pushed himself too hard for the past week. This War was taking a lot of energy out of him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last like this.

The illness was so dreadful, England couldn't think straight. It didn't help that the British nation couldn't tell whether he was awake or asleep. He was falling asleep and waking up every several minutes, he could bearly tell what hour it was, or if it was still the same day. He was very miserable, to say the least.

The rest of the members of the United Kingdom were so kind as to stay out of the house all day while England suffered. He had long since passed cursing out his brothers in his head. In his state and condition, he was surprised he even remembered his brothers' names.

England was so out of it, the sound of the front door opening didn't catch his attention. He was unaware that another person was in the house until he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned his head toward the door, wondering who the person was.

The footsteps stopped outside his door where they remained quiet for several moments. After another minute of complete silence, England grew annoyed.

"I know you're out there!" England groaned out loudly, "Stop messing around and show yourself!"

The door opened slowly, allowing a familiar red-head to enter. His green clothes were drench and dripping wet. The dirt that smeared his cheeks almost successfully covered the man's freckles. His boots were also covered with drying mud, tracking dirt all through the room.

The red-haired man crouched beside England's bed and stared at the blond laying before him. Looking into those empty green eyes, England knew who was in the house with him. He couldn't believe it.

"Irish Free State?"

"Hey, England," the Irishman said slowly. Once again, there was no emotion to his voice. His expression was as calm and still as the day he parted from the United Kingdom.

"What are you doing here?" England asked in disbelief rather than in agitation.

"I heard you were sick and thought I should visit."

"Have you come to see me in a weakened state and laugh at me?"

"England, there may be tension between us but I'm not like our brothers."

"You say that now."

"And I told you centuries ago that I wouldn't... Do you even remember what I told you then?"

"I'm doing good enough to even remember who you are."

The two were silent as the rain tapped against the window. England was still amazed Ireland even came to visit. It was true that the Irish nation was good at heart, but they were separated for almost a year now. It seemed too early for them to be nice to each other. Unless...

_Am I dreaming...?_ England thought to himself as he stared up at Ireland. _I must be. He would never visit me out of his own free will._

"Irish Free State... right?" England asked.

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Can you crawl into bed with me?"

There was a long pause before Ireland stuttered out, "Wh-What?"

"Lay next to me in bed. Like you use to do when we were little."

"E-England... That was a long time ago. Besides, that might not be a good idea."

"Why not?"

"If you haven't noticed, I'm soaked to the bone in rain water."

"And?"

"Your sheets will get wet, I'll make you cold, and your illness will probably get worse."

"You don't have to get under the blankets with me. You can just lay above them."

"You don't mind if the sheets get wet?"

"No. It's not a problem right now."

Ireland looked around the room while shifting his weight on his bent legs awkwardly. After a moment or two of this, Ireland sat on the bed and laid next to England. England moved closer to him, wrapping his arm over his brother's chest.

"I thought you wanted me to lay here. Not snuggle."

"I thought you knew better."

"Apparently not."

England rested his head on Ireland's chest, feeling the cold, wet moisture of the red-head's shirt against his warm cheek. His sleeve became damp from resting his arm over the rain-soaked shirt.

"How long were you out there?" England asked out of curiosity.

"About four hours."

"No wonder you're so cold and wet."

Ireland stayed silent as England continued to rest his head over Ireland's chest. Through the half unbuttoned shirt, England could feel how smooth Ireland's chest was. It wasn't muscular like Germany's but very flat like Italy's. Almost too flat.

His arm around Ireland, England could tell he was a bit skinnier since the last time they came in physical contact. He could almost feel his ribcage through the shirt.

_Wow... He's really skinny... I wonder if he's been eating enough..._

Ireland brought his right hand up to run his fingers through England's hair. His fingers were a little boney, several scars covering his hand. His nails were also chipped and broken, showing that they had not been taken care of. England only saw a glimpse of that hand before closing his eyes.

_I'm sick... I probably just imagined it... Or my eyesight distorted his actual hand with something unpleasant..._

England was soon able to relax from Ireland's touch. Though he could tell his older brother was feeling awkward doing this, it felt just as it did when they were young. England enjoyed it when Ireland ruffled his hair.

Though the shirt was saturated in rain water, England snuggled his head further into Ireland's chest. He could hear the Irishman's heartbeat and feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing. The shirt was quite thin so England was almost able to feel Ireland's very flesh.

"South..." England breathed out with a sigh.

"What is it, England?"

"...Kiss..." It wasn't a command but an uncertain request. England never asked for a kiss from Ireland. He could never bring himself to ask Ireland for something like that. Most of the time he didn't need to. Ireland usually initiated the kissing and other displays of affection.

"What was that?" Ireland asked, his voice faltering in uncertainty.

England blushed lightly at the question, thinking Ireland was teasing him into repeating his request.

"You heard me," England murmured, a little agitation in his tone.

"Are you sure? You could get me infected. You know that right?"

"You're the country of good luck. Chances are this illness will not effect you in the slightest."

The Irish nation mumbled something under his breath before pulling England's head up. England closed his eyes as he waited to feel his brother's lips brush against his. He wanted to feel the warmth and love Ireland gave him when they were close to each other.

When Ireland's lips touched England's, the younger nation was met with a strange feeling. Ireland's usual soft, warm lips were dry and cracked. The chapped lips were a little rough as they scratched across England's mouth.

_What is this?_

England opened his eyes to see a face slightly different from the one he's use to. There were shadows under Ireland's closed eyes. Not too dark but they were noticable. His red hair, though wet, was messier than usual. The colour from his face had almost completely drained, making his freckles more visible.

This was not Ireland's face. Those were not his lips. That hand wasn't his brother's. This body wasn't his. This wasn't Ireland.

_Bad dream. Bad dream!_

England tried to push away from this distorted version of Ireland, but the man quickly wrapped his arms around England. Due to the illness he was under, England didn't have enough strength to fight back.

Suddenly, England felt the man's tongue slip through his mouth. Repulsed, the British nation tried to bite the offending organ or pull away from the horrid mouth. Instead, the man persisted and even slipped some of his saliva into England's mouth. The Brit wanted to spit it out but his natural reflex forced him to swallow. England was disgusted with what was going on, and angered that he couldn't do anything about it.

Slowly, England felt his body weaken. He was losing the energy to struggle. His eyes became heavy as he tried to stay focused. He was growing numb by the minute.

The man's tongue finally slipped out and he watched as England slowly drifted off. England was forced to look up into those dark green eyes that should belong to his brother. Not this imposter trying to pass as Ireland.

England closed his eyes and, when he opened them again, the man was gone. England looked at his sheets to see that they weren't wet. He also looked at the floor of his room to find that the dirt was nowhere to be found.

_What a horrible dream..._

It wasn't until a few moments later that England realized he wasn't as tired as before. Intrigued, he reached over to his night stand to retrieve the thermometer, and check his temperature. After a few minutes, he pulled it out of his mouth and checked where the mercury stopped. He was amazed to see that his fever went down quite a bit.

The sound of the front door opening alerted England. He heard his three older brothers walk into the house noisily, laughing and joking about their day. The British nation relaxed, glad that his awful dream didn't become reality.

_That's right... South would never let himself go to waste like that... The South in my dream was just a bad image... Hopefully, it won't happen again..._

* * *

In case you're confused, England calls "Irish Free State" by his old nickname "South" because he thinks he's back in the dream world. Although, due to this Ireland not being the same as what England remembered, he freaks out and thinks it's a bad dream with this Ireland trying to violate him.


	7. What Happened to You?

It's St. Patrick's Day and England decides to give Ireland a little visit. When he goes over to his older brother's house, however, he's met with an awful surprise.

I know I haven't updated in awhile but I've been busy, as usual. At least the next chapter's up, right? Sorry it's a little short again.

I used Google translate so don't expect the translations to be correct.

There might also be some errors in the history of what follows after the Irish War for Independence, and in the description of Dublin. Forgive me if either of these are wrong.

Enjoy everybody!

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It was March 17 when England found himself on the ferry leaving Wales' dock to Ireland's. England decided he should visit Ireland even if the man didn't care for the Brit's presence. He thought that maybe Ireland would be a little more relaxed today. It _was_ the holiday of his patron saint, St. Patrick. It was the Irishman's favourite holiday next to Halloween.

The ferry made it to Ireland's port, where England stepped off the boat and started walking to his older brother's house. Throughout Dublin were citizens clothed in green, pubs filled with adults celebrating with tall glasses of whisky, and small children joking about catching leprechauns. It brought a small smile to England's face as he remembered all the fun times he and Ireland had on St. Patrick's Day. Although, they always ended with the two going to the pub and Ireland dragging England back home.

Entering the more rural area outside of the city, England followed the road that led to Ireland's house. The fields stretched for many miles but it was the same beautiful green as it had always been.

It wasn't long before England found Ireland's house and walked up the steps. He was about to knock on the door when he heard laughing. It didn't sound like it was coming from inside the house but outside. England could hear that the laughter was coming from the back of the house, so he followed it.

The back of Ireland's house could barely be called a back yard. All that you could see for miles on end was nothing but fields Ireland farmed on. Everything from wheat to corn to even his precious potatoes grew in his fields. The only part of land that could be considered a backyard was the few yards of grass connecting to the back of the house.

Right in front of the fields, laughing as though the troubles of the world didn't exist, were France and Ireland. France, like England, wasn't wearing his military uniform. He was dressed in his usual designer clothes but with a green belt to avoid being pinched. Ireland was in his very casual clothes: a white button down shirt that was half-way undone, a green under shirt, brown pants with suspenders, dark grey newsboy hat, and black boots. Although, there was something else about Ireland that England couldn't put his finger on.

"Well, if it isn't Eyebrows!" France remarked once he realized England was there. Ireland noticed him too, his cheerful face becoming more emotionless. "What brings you here?"

"Nothing too important, bloody frog. I just thought I'd come over to visit."

"How awful for the Irish Free State to be graced with your unruly presence. Especially on St. Patrick's Day."

"Shut up!"

France chuckled at the irritated blond while Ireland continued to frown. England walked closer to the two but stopped once he was a foot away from Ireland. The last time he came in close contact with Ireland was when the Second World War started, and he asked if the Irish nation would join him with the Allies. Either it had really been that long or he hadn't looked at his brother more closely.

Ireland had dark shadows under his eyes, his white face making them seem darker than they should. His green eyes that use to be full of life appeared dull and withered. His neck was slightly thinner and his collarbone quite noticable. As a small wind blew between them, England could see that Ireland was just as thin through his shirt. He was malnourished.

_Where have I seen that before? I know I've seen this somewhere before..._

And then it hit England. The dream he had months ago where he saw Ireland in a horrible state...

_Oh god... He really has become weak..._

"I-Irish Free State... What happened to you?"

"Well, since you don't visit as often, things haven't been going well at my house."

"What do you mean?"

"My economy failed after I became independent. Why do you think I've been working extra hard the past several months?"

"I thought it was because Northern Ireland refused to help you."

"No. Speaking of which, the civil war between us has taken its toll on me. Not to mention this War going on."

The Second World War was getting to everyone. Germany seemed to be having the upper hand much to the Allies' disappointment. It was really stressing France and England out. Both nations used Ireland as a means of escape from the War. France talked to him while England dreamt of him.

"Wow..." England whispered, "I didn't know..."

"It's not your fault."

_But it is my fault. If I hadn't of forced you to join, you would've never become this way._

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can't help me anymore, England. You've done enough." Ireland gave him a hated look, his eyes too lifeless to show any other emotion. England felt hurt but didn't let it show. He knows France would love nothing more than to see England upset by the only brother that use to show him love and kindness.

"Would you prefer that I leave?"

"That would be best, England."

England stepped away from his brother, the Irishman's presence becoming unbearable along with his hating glare.

"Okay. I'll leave."

England turned and walked around Ireland's house until he was in the front yard again. He couldn't believe how much Ireland had changed. Physically, he was hard to look at. He was becoming a little crueller with his words. His glares were much worse and left England feeling horrible inside.

_How long has it been? How has he changed this much?_

For a moment, England wonders if Ireland's war for independence changed him so badly. America wasn't like this when he gained his independence. He refused to be around England and didn't speak to him for quite a while. He didn't resent England or look at him with such hatred in his eyes.

"England!"

The British nation stopped and turned to look at the person who called his name. He was only able to make it a few feet down the road when France came running towards him. England groaned out as he saw his rival grow closer.

"What do you want, Frog?"

"Just to talk."

"About...?"

"Who else?"

England narrowed his eyes at France.

"Are you trying to upset me? It's not going to work."

"Then there's no fun in trying. You're just too stubborn."

"What do you want?"

"How does he compare?"

"What?"

"He looks different from the window, doesn't he?"

England stared at France, his eyes widened. The look on his face said exactly what England was thinking: _How did he know?!_

"'How did I know,' right?"

England was speechless. He was too shocked he couldn't come up with a good excuse or retort.

"I've seen you sitting in your living room, watching Ireland from your window. You pretend to be working on your embroidery or reading the newspaper, but your eyes always stray to the window."

"Have you been watching me?"

"No. I just see this every time I return from Ireland's house. A little pitiable, don't you think?"

"Your actions or mine?"

"Yours, of course. Care to tell me why you do this every day?"

Of course, England wasn't going to tell France why he watches Ireland. Deep down, England didn't really understand why he did this. It could be because he still can't accept that Ireland's no longer with him. It could also be because his love for Ireland allows him to watch the red-head without anyone judging him. It may be because he's concerned for Ireland's well-being. The man spends most of his time in his fields than he does inside.

"I don't see how it will benefit you," England replied.

"I'm not looking for any benefits. Just an answer."

"I'm a little concerned for him. Is that good enough?"

"If you were concerned, you would've found a way to help him. Not sit in your cozy little kingdom while Ireland struggles to eat."

France walks past England before uttering, "Si vous vous souciez, vous feriez quelque chose." (T: If you cared, you would do something.)

Though France was England's enemy through history, he picked up on some of the French language. He knew a few words here and there to make a sentence. He knew what France was saying without the need to ask him to repeat it.

_What does he mean "do something?" What could I possibly do? Besides, it looks like Ireland doesn't want me to do anything._

This St. Patrick's Day didn't turn out as bright as England had hoped. Ireland still showed England a face that was devoid of any kindness. Even worse, Ireland established that he didn't want anything from England. Now it's Ireland refusing help from England and not just Northern Ireland refusing to help Ireland. Ireland is on his own.


	8. The End

Months after visiting Ireland, the dreams stop becoming satisfying to England. He tries to stop them but he thinks he may have almost ended something else. This leads England to a strange confrontation with the real Ireland. And he may find the answers to who or what has been controlling his dreams this whole time.

I hope you guys enjoy this! Only two more chapters after this!

WARNING: At some point, this is going to be slightly disturbing. This is also going to be pretty sad, so prepare a tissue.

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A few months went by as the War continued. France was invaded by Germany, forcing him to surrender along with other countries bordering his house. England was feeling more alone than ever but he still fought with determination against the Axis Powers. If the Allies were able to succeed in the First World War, they can surely win in the Second World War.

After visiting Ireland, England couldn't go back to see him. The image of his older brother looking frail and deteriorated haunted England. It even followed him in his dreams when he was with the dream Ireland. This version that looked healthy and well fed was no match against the weak looking face in England's head.

As any other night, England laid down to go to sleep and be with the other Ireland. When he opened his eyes, he was in his room but it was mid-day. He got out of bed and walked down the stairs into the living room. Sure enough, Ireland was sitting on the couch, staring out the window.

England came up behind Ireland, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed his right cheek. Ireland chuckled before reaching up to ruffle England's hair.

"Good morning, Deartháir Beag."

"G'morning," England mumbled. He walked around the couch and sat next to Ireland, leaning into him and resting his head on the red-head's chest. He felt so real to England. It calmed him slightly to be near the healthier Ireland.

_But..._

"I love you, Deartháir Beag."

"I love you too, South..." England muttered without any emotion to his voice.

_You're not the same as my older brother. You're not the Irish Free State._

"Is everything okay, Deartháir Beag?"

"Yeah... I'm just under a lot of stress right now..."

"Of course. You've been working so hard lately. You need to take a break every once in a while. Relax."

"If only I could..."

_The Second World War does not exist here. You never acknowledge it so why bring it up?_

"Oh! I know! Let's make one of your favourite meals! That'll take your mind off things, right?"

"I guess we can make some scones..."

"Perfect! I'll get the ingredients."

_You're so happy and full of life. Not nearly lifeless like you should be..._

England and Ireland walked into the kitchen and pulled out some ingredients and the proper kitchen ware. Cooking was one of England's main ways of escape. It was his comfort zone, his passion. No one ever truly cared for his meals and would call it poison. The only one that wouldn't insult his cooking was Ireland.

They mixed the dry ingredients and added the necessary amounts of spices. Once they were in the proper mixture, the two island nations began to form the scones on the pan. Finally, England put the scones in the oven and stepped away.

"Deartháir Beag..."

England turned around as Ireland began wiping the blond's cheek.

"You have some flour on your face," Ireland chuckled.

England frowned as he stared into that kind face.

_You're not real. You're just a cruel illusion._

England's bright green eyes began to water up as Ireland softly wiped his cheek.

_You're not suppose to be nice to me. You're suppose to hate me for doing this to you._

Those green orbs burned from the moisture trapped inside them.

_You shouldn't look like this. You should appear tired, underfed, and almost skeletal._

The tears brimmed around the Brit's eyes, threatening to spill.

_You're not my real brother. You can never replace him no matter how nice you act towards me._

For once in his life since the American Revolution, England cried in front of the nation that he lost. He had to let go of Ireland in order to move on. Tonight he will end these dreams for good.

"I'm sorry, Irish Free State," England choked out, his tears streaming down his face. Ireland looked at England with a confused expression on his face.

"'Irish Free State?' I'm South, the representation of the southern part of Ireland."

"You are in this realm. But I want to see the Irish Free State."

"What are you talking about, Deartháir Beag?"

"You hate me. You hated me ever since I made you a part of the United Kingdom. Because of this, you declared your independence and we had a war, the Irish War for Independence. It ended in a truce between us and you and your twin brother were separated."

"England, I'm not following any of this."

"You are not real. You're a horrible delusion of my mind that's torturing me from the inside out."

"England... How can you say that? I would never-"

"You're so nice. Just like you use to be. But in reality, you're as cold as the winters in Russia. You look at me with hatred in your eyes and there's no emotion to your voice when you speak to me."

"England, calm down."

"I want the Ireland who despises me when he sees me! Who spits out the smallest words that affect me later! Who looks half dead because I forced him into poverty!"

"England!"

"Dear God! I'm so sorry!"

Ireland cupped England's face in his hands, cradling the broken nation.

"Deartháir Beag. I don't know what's gotten into you but you have to stop saying strange things. Whatever is going on, let me help you with it. Maybe then everything will be fine."

"Nothing will be fine anymore. Don't you see? We can never go back to the way things were."

"Is this about our relationship? Even though we're tied to each other as brothers, we're not blood related."

"You twit! That's the last thing on my mind! I don't want you here anymore! I want the Irish Free State!"

"Deartháir Beag! Stop saying such things!"

"Go away!"

"Deartháir Beag!"

Ireland tried to pull England into a hug but the blond was doing all he could to push him away. Through their struggle, England looked over at the dirty dishes from the day before. He saw the chef's knife he used to cut the lamb meat for dinner. He thought, if he could just put it in front of Ireland to make him back away, maybe it'll get Ireland off of him. He could even just slash it across Ireland's chest and rip his jumper. Anything to make this Ireland leave.

England grabbed the chef's knife, swung his arm in Ireland's direction, and yelled "Go away!" as he closed his eyes. He felt the knife slide across something besides air, and Ireland's arms left England's sides. When he opened his eyes, he was met with a sight more awful than he could imagine.

Ireland stared at England with semi-shocked eyes, his throat deeply cut. Blood spilled profusely out of his wound and onto his jumper, turning the dark green fabric black. Ireland did not appear to be in pain. He wore a very sad expression.

"I see," Ireland started. His voice was just as normal as though his throat was not sliced. As he spoke, blood flowed out of his mouth and down his chin, further dousing the floor in crimson. "You don't want this to continue anymore. I understand now. I'll give you what you wish England. Only because I love you."

England was too shocked to grab a dish cloth and try to staunch the bleeding. He was in too much shock to do anything except stare.

More blood poured out of Ireland's neck, refusing to stop. The Irishman opened his mouth to speak, his warm red blood spilling out like a waterfall.

"Be safe, Deartháir Beag. Remember that I'll always love you and I'll ne-"

Ireland's lips moved but no words came out. Every noise around England was muted. Everything began to blur and mesh together as the dream grew more abstract. England screamed out in uncertainty and fear, but his voice could not be heard. His head grew light and his whole body went numb. He felt as though he were falling but he was still standing in front of the pool of blood. Soon, nothing was solid or took any form and the whole world was hushed.

England woke up with a start, nearly falling out of bed. He was sweating and panting roughly as he thought over what had happened.

_I did it! I finally ended these horrible dreams!_

The image of the happier Ireland with sad eyes, a cut throat, and blood running down his front suddenly flashed in England's mind. It looked so real. He could smell the blood and almost taste it. He felt the warm wet substance slide down the knife's blade onto his hand. It felt like water only thicker.

A sudden thought went through England's head as he remembered the horrid image of the dying dream Ireland. For awhile, England had considered that Ireland himself was the one making him have the dreams. They both knew magic, the discussions in the dreams were things only Ireland and England would know, and the Ireland in his dreams spoke perfect Gaelic. Who else could be causing these dreams except him?

Although, if Ireland was the culprit and controlling the dreams all along, then...

_Oh, no... I cut the Irish Free State's throat!_

"Irish Free State!" England yelled out, as he stumbled out of bed. At this moment, he didn't care if his brothers woke up and yelled at him to go back to bed. If he really did cut Ireland, it could be a matter of time before he bleeds to death.

England ran out the door into the June night. He didn't bother to grab his coat or put on his shoes. He had to get to Ireland's house before it was too late.

As England neared the docks, he realized it was too late to board a ferry. Even if he had a choice, he knew it would take too long for the ferry to complete its trip. He had to jump from Wales' dock to Ireland's.

When Ireland was still a kid, he found a way to get to the island's without having to sit in a boat for so long. He started jumping from the docks to the other islands. He would slip and fall into the bodies of water between him and his brothers at first, but he got better as time went on. It was the earlier form of "island-hopping," a strategy the Allies will use later on in the War.

England increased his speed, despite that his legs ached. Once on the docks, he made sure no one was watching before leaping across the St. George Channel. He almost made it to Ireland's dock when his foot slipped and he fell into the channel.

Desperate, England splashed his way to the shore and ran to Ireland's house. He was soaked in water, his pajamas weighing him down as he continued his frantic run.

Never before had England noticed how far Ireland lived from his ports. England had never felt that it would take forever to reach the red-head's house. The road seemed to go on for miles. The grassy fields seemed more vast than they usually were.

Through the pale moonlight, England could see the dark building known as Ireland's house. No lights were on in the house except for the dim flickering of a candle in Ireland's bedroom. If he were given normal circumstances, England would've thought it was strange or that the Irish nation was casting a spell late at night. England assumed that the candle light had something to do with Ireland putting a spell on his dreams.

Running up to the house, England turned the knob to open the front door but discovered it was locked. He banged on the door with his fists and called out Ireland's name in case he was still able to walk around. Hopefully, he found something to staunch the wound until he was able to go to the hospital.

The sound of the front door being unlocked caught England's attention. The door opened wide to show a sleep deprived Ireland, the shadows under his eyes darker than before. There was no evidence that a wound was over Ireland's neck. The blood that flowed down his face, neck, and chest had disappeared.

"England?" Ireland asked, sleep evident in his voice, "What are you-"

"Irish Free State! You're okay!" England lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Ireland in a tight hug. The Irish nation jumped at the feeling of England's cold wet body. He was soon wide awake from both England's wet clothes, and the strange way England was acting.

"E-England? Is everything okay?"

"It is now! Oh, thank God you're alive!"

"England!" Ireland pushed England away, keeping him at arm's length. The British nation looked up at Ireland, tears in his eyes. Ireland stared back but this time there was emotion in his eyes: concern.

"England. What's going on?"

England stared at the red-head, a little in shock that he was showing emotion to him for once. Slowly, England calmed down from his previous frantic rush to get here. Everything was okay now.

"It's... a long story," England replied.

"Then come inside. You can't stay out there all night, soaking wet. I'll loan you some clothes."

"You don't have to do that."

"Are you willing to jeopardize your health while still fighting in this War?"

"No, but-"

"Then listen to me and stop being persistent."

Ireland's voice was firm and held the same concern he had in his eyes. He wasn't cold or apathetic towards England. He was actually worried.

Ireland led England into the bathroom and gave him a towel to dry off with before leaving to retrieve some clothes. When he came back, England had just removed his shirt and was drying off the water that was left on his skin.

"Here are some pajamas," Ireland offered the clothes to England, "They might be a little big, but you'll manage."

After drying himself off, England slipped on Ireland's neutral green pajamas. They were indeed a little big, the sleeves going past his wrists to his fingertips, and the pants slightly baggy on him. He couldn't complain. The Irishman was actually showing an emotion besides bitterness for once. He didn't have time to be picky.

England walked downstairs into the living room to find it empty. Ireland wasn't sitting down anywhere, waiting for England to finish. This wasn't like the dreams.

Ireland walked out of the kitchen door and sat down on his couch. He noticed England standing silently from the staircase, and pat the other side of the couch next to him.

"Come. Sit down. I know you must be tired."

England obeyed his older brother and sat next to him on the couch. Ireland pulled a blanket off the top of the couch and wrapped it around England's shoulders. England was still surprised that Ireland was treating him with some bit of kindness.

"Better?" Ireland asked.

"Yeah."

"I'm making some coffee. I know you don't care for it but that's all I have to offer."

"I can deal with it. It's not like it'll kill me."

They were quiet for a moment, the sound of the grandfather clock breaking the silence. Ireland eventually cleared his throat, prepared to speak.

"So, what brings you here to my house in the middle of the night?"

"You're going to laugh when I tell you this."

"Since when have I ever laughed at you?"

"... I had a bad dream..."

"A bad dream?"

"But, it wasn't just any bad dream. I don't think they were dreams at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I think someone has been controlling my dreams ever since we changed our names."

"Why do you think that?"

"The same thing kept happening over and over again each night without fail."

"Maybe it was a recurring nightmare."

"Not at first. But it turned into one the past two or three months."

"I could ask you what was in your dreams but then it might happen."

"That's impossible. I know this will never happen." England looked up at Ireland with a sad smile. "In my dreams, you were actually nice to me."

Ireland stared at England in slight alarm. England was afraid his older brother would be offended or upset that he'd been dreaming of him ever since they separated. Instead, Ireland calmed down and gave England an encouraging look.

"What exactly happened in the dreams?" Ireland asked. He was neither curious nor uninterested. He simply wanted to know what went on in the dreams.

"Like I said: you were nice. But it was strange because you were still in the United Kingdom. Or, you at least dressed like you did."

"Did I still have that dreadful collar around my neck?"

"No. That's what confused me more. You were happy, dressed in the formal attire of the United Kingdom, but you weren't necessarily a part of it."

"That is pretty weird."

"They made me so happy, though. You weren't the person you are today. It was like the days we had when we were younger. Those days you would smile and be happy and nothing upset you."

"Those days when we were children and we didn't understand what being a country was really like?"

England frowned when he heard Ireland say that. It almost sounded like he resented those days.

"Well, anyways, in the dreams you always treated me kindly and called me 'deartháir beag' like you use to. They were so happy..."

"So, what made them bad? How did they turn into nightmares?"

"St. Patrick's Day, when I came to visit, I actually saw you for the first time since asking you to join me as the Allies. You had gotten so much worse. I didn't know things could get so bad for you. I mean, when America became independent, he never-"

"America was different. He didn't split away from you in the middle of the Depression. He didn't have a civil war following his independence. None of the World Wars came after he was officially independent. We're different, England. Just because America was fine on his own doesn't mean I was going to."

"Maybe that's why seeing you looking ill and pale frightened me."

"So, how did my new appearance cause your dreams to become nightmares?"

"I couldn't look at the happier version of you without seeing the real you in my mind. No matter what, I always saw you instead of the illusion."

"Is that all?"

"No. Tonight, I couldn't deal with these dreams anymore. They just showed the person I could never see again. It hurt more to see your smiling face than the one that usually shows no emotion to me. So, I decided to end them."

"If you thought they were influenced by a spell, did you know how to repel them?"

"Actually, I never looked into it. The dreams made me so happy, I didn't think there was any harm in ending them. So, I never tried to stop them up until tonight."

"So, how did you do it?"

"I tried to tell the dream version of you to go away. But, it kept persisting and seemed to not understand. So, I tried to push him away by force. I was going to threaten it with a knife or even just cut the jumper. But, I somehow ended up hitting its neck, and cut it pretty deeply."

"Do you think it worked?"

"That's why I'm here. I thought that maybe you were the one behind this."

"Me?"

"Yes. It just seemed that this version of you knew things only we knew and spoke fluent Gaelic."

"Anyone can learn Gaelic well enough to fluently speak it. You sure it wasn't Northern Ireland or Scotland?"

"I don't see why they'd make the dreams so happy. I honestly think they'd try to torture me with that kind of spell."

"I guess you have a point."

"So, it wasn't you?"

"I don't have the time to do such things, England. If I did, I wouldn't spend it tricking you. I'm sure it's just someone's cruel joke. It may even be one of our brothers."

_I highly doubt that. They can barely stand looking at me, let alone being romantically involved with me. They would not bother doing something like this._

"Hell, maybe America actually learned how to do magic," England said sarcastically. Ireland chuckled lightly under his breath.

"The day he admits fairies and leprechauns exist, anything will be possible."

"If he ever gets over his fear of ghosts, I'll believe anything he says."

The two nations laughed lightly as the grandfather clock chimed the hour. They both looked up at the clock to see that it was now 2:00 am. England could feel the pit in his stomach grow as he realized what he had to do.

"I should go."

"It's late. You can sleep in one of the guest rooms."

"No. I really should leave."

"What makes you say that?"

"I found the answers I was looking for. There's no reason for me to stay."

England knew Ireland probably didn't understand what he was saying. He didn't feel the need to explain. Ireland didn't cause the dreams and he was unharmed. Staying will only further hurt him.

"Well, if you feel that way then I have no reason to stop you. But, let me at least escort you to the docks."

"Why? The ferries have shut down for the night."

"There's a row boat on the shore I use at times. I'm not going to have you chance jumping to the other side. I assume that's why you were wet."

"You slip at times too."

"You're just clumsy." There was amusement in his voice, making it more of a joke and not an insult.

"I guess I have no choice."

"Let me take care of the coffee before we leave."

* * *

England sat in the boat and waited for Ireland to push it into the water. After feeling no movement, he turned around to see Ireland staring at him.

"What is it?" England asked.

"Just thinking..."

"What about?"

"It's strange. Ever since the separation, you've had the most pleasant dreams while I've had the worst nightmares."

"Nightmares? About what?"

Ireland stared at him with a thoughtful look on his face, considering for a moment whether or not to tell him. After a moment, Ireland shook his head.

"It's not good to tell bad dreams before eating something."

"Is it that bad?"

"I wish I could say I've seen worse."

"Oh..."

"It can't come true, I know that."

"Why not?"

"It's already happened..."

England gave him a confused look before Ireland pushed onto the boat a little. England put his hand on Ireland's before saying, "Wait!"

Ireland stopped and looked up at England. The blond's hands were still over Ireland's, the red-head not disturbing their placement.

"What is it?"

England knew he would never see Ireland after this. He knew that they would never be able to talk to each other, or be the slightest bit friendly once this night was over. This was the only chance he had to say what he needed to say. He knows Ireland has been waiting for him to say it for almost a year now. He should've known that France was trying to drop a huge hint the last time they both saw Ireland together on St. Patrick's Day.

"Irish Free State... I'm sorry..."

Ireland stared at him, obviously not knowing what England meant.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry I forced you to join me. If I hadn't of done it, you wouldn't be in the state you're in right now."

"England..."

"Please, don't try to persuade me into thinking it's not my fault. I know I'm to blame for what's become of you. I forced you and Northern Ireland to grow apart and hate each other. I made you become weak and struggle to survive. I screwed everything up because I was selfish. I can understand now why you hate me so much."

It was quiet for a moment before Ireland snaked his fingers over England's, placing them lightly above his little brother's fingers.

"You'll never learn, will you, England?"

"What? What is it that I haven't learned?"

"I thought I told you years ago... I can't hate you. Even if I wanted to I can never hate you."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Just remember that from now on. Goodnight, England."

Ireland pushed the boat into the channel and let go of England's hand.

"Good-bye, Irish Free State." England wasn't saying this as his parting words. He was saying good-bye to his older brother for good. Almost a year since they made the truce that ended the war, England acknowledged Ireland's independence. England had finally learned to let go of the only other nation he cared about the most.


	9. Time Heals All Wounds

Many years have passed since England said good-bye to Ireland. Now, they're on good terms again and everything seems fine. Everything except for the unrequitted love England feels for his older brother. But, will a sudden rain shower change that?

You know I couldn't just end it with the previous chapter. That's too depressing and I'm not that sadistic. So, hopefully, you'll like this chapter. Enjoy everyone!

* * *

Today was a rather pleasant day. The sun was out and successfully broke through every cloud in the sky. It was spring so the temperature was very mild; not too warm and not too hot. Nearly every person in the street was emitting a sense of rejoice for the blooming world. Even Ireland had to stop and gaze at the beauty that was overtaking his land. England was also finding himself in lighter spirits these days.

It's the spring of 1998 and Ireland has been getting along better with his brothers. After several years of being independent, Ireland decided to mend the broken relationship between him and the United Kingdom. He didn't want to return but to clean up the mess he made when he left. Scotland, Wales, and England accepted him as their brother while Northern Ireland was still having difficulties with the situation. He eventually came around after much convincing from Ireland. But, even though the twins were back on good terms again, they kept their separate names.

Ireland had changed his name a few years after his independence. He decided to be known as Ireland again since Northern Ireland was his own country on the island. He also thought it would be simpler to be known as Ireland instead of the Irish Free State. When it came down to deciding his official name, he chose to be known as the Republic of Ireland.

Though Ireland was friendlier towards him, England couldn't help but feel a little empty whenever they were together. The dreams haven't returned since the night he ran to Ireland's house, but he still longed for the comfort of his older brother. England had spent months convincing himself that saying good-bye to Ireland was for the best. That never made him stop loving his brother, though.

Today, England decided to visit Ireland. They've been seeing a lot more of each other ever since they returned to being on good terms again. They would visit the other's house from time to time and spend part of the day there. It was an uplifting moment for England to restore that close bond with his brother.

As Ireland and England were conversing and going on about current events, they started hearing the tapping of rain against the window. Ireland stood up from his spot on the couch to see how far along the rain had progressed while he was busy talking to England. Staring out the window, he could see the rain steadily grow heavier.

"It looks like you're going to be here for a while, England," Ireland said, giving his youngest brother a reassuring grin.

"Oh well. It's not like this is the first time this happened."

"Well, while we're waiting for the rain to stop, do you want me to make you tea or anything?"

Ireland didn't really care for tea just as England could care less about coffee. Although, ever since England started coming over more often, Ireland made it a priority to stock up on some tea for the Brit's regular visits.

"Sure," England answered while staring out the window, "That'll be fine."

Ireland left the room to make the tea, leaving England to sit on the couch by himself. That strange feeling of content and loneliness began to set in England's body as he took in the sight of his older brother's living room. He was glad things were back to normal but he still wished he and Ireland could be much more.

A few minutes later, Ireland returned and they continued their previous conversation. It wasn't until Ireland paused in the middle of a sentence that England became a little curious. The Irishman appeared as though he were remembering something, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Is everything okay, Ireland?"

"Yeah... I just had a thought... That night you came to my house due to a dream..."

"Oh, it's nothing to worry over now. I haven't had them since that night."

"That's what I'm trying to bring up." Ireland grew quiet for a moment before slowly speaking again. "The dream hadn't reappeared since then, right?"

"Yes, I just said that."

"Did you ask our brothers about them to see if maybe they had something to do with them?"

"I never brought it up. I was so certain that they'd be the last people to do that to me."

"Well, you're right..."

"What do you mean?"

Ireland became quiet again, causing England to look at him. Ireland's face was serious but held a knowing look in his eyes. After a minute of silence and staring, England's eyes widened as he realized what Ireland was trying to say.

"Ireland... you...?"

"Yes, England. It was me all along."

The British nation was speechless. He wasn't sure what to say to this. He never thought about what he'd do or say if he found out Ireland controlled his dreams. All he could come up with was, "Why didn't you tell me that years ago?"

Ireland scooted closer to England and took his hand, running his thumb over the smooth pale flesh.

"I wasn't ready then," Ireland explained.

"'Wasn't ready?' What were you preparing yourself for?"

"The other nations, our brothers."

"But, why-"

"Let me explain everything to you, England. When you made me and Northern Ireland join you, yes I was deeply upset with the situation. I became annoyed and aggravated with you and how you ran things in the house. But, despite this, I still couldn't bring myself to stay mad at you for long.

"When I was still very young, I felt something towards you that I never felt around any of our other brothers. I wanted to stay by your side and protect you from other countries. I realized from my leprechauns and later on from France that I was in love with you. I knew it was wrong but, as they say, you can't control how you feel."

England was surprised to hear that, not only did Ireland feel the same way, he had been harboring his feelings for most of his life, too. England wanted to tell him his similar story but the Irish nation began to speak again.

"England, I want you to know why I became independent."

"Wait, you didn't just do it to get away from me?"

"That was part of the reason, but it's not what you're thinking. Like I told you, I can't hate you even if I tried."

"So, what was the real reason?"

"Since we were further bonded as brothers in the United Kingdom, I realized our relationship would seem even more forbidden. We could never be together with that title above us. I couldn't stand the thought of pushing my emotions away and forever seeing you as just my little brother.

"When America became independent, he told you he was no longer your brother. Gaining my independence would've been the only way. We would still be connected as brothers but it wouldn't be as official as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland."

"You broke away just for that? You didn't have to do that. There were other options!"

"That, again, is not the whole reason I split away, England. That was only a small part of it. My main reason was because I wanted to be free again. I was hoping that Northern Ireland would agree and join me, but he decided to stay.

"I couldn't stay in the United Kingdom. I didn't feel right there. I didn't want to be under your rule. My independence meant everything to me. And, the final reason why I wanted this was to prove to you that I can be on my own again. But, that plan faltered a little once Northern Ireland proclaimed he wouldn't have anything to do with my independence."

England looked at Ireland as he finished his explanation. He gripped Ireland's hand and stared down at their intertwined fingers. He wore a look of guilt and dismay as he kept his head down, refusing to look his older brother in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Ireland. I'm really sorry."

"I know. You already told me that in the dream."

Hearing Ireland speak of the dreams, England suddenly looked up at him. He forgot about the reason why this conversation started.

"Ireland, how _were_ you able to control my dreams?"

"With a simple Dream Possession spell."

"Of course! Why didn't I think of it before?"

"You used a simple spell on me so I used a simple spell on you."

"I should've known. No wonder you were able to interfere with my regular dreams and make the new ones so lucid."

"That was what I was looking for."

"But... to do this spell... the one who casts it..."

"Has to be awake while the dreamer sleeps."

England looked at Ireland with concern as he realized what this meant.

"That whole year, you stayed up all night to do this spell each day, and you didn't get any sleep. Did you?"

"You catch on quickly, England. I'll give you that."

"Why did you do that? Didn't that further weaken you through your struggles?"

"I knew what the consequences were before doing this. Even though I'd be sacrificing my sleep, I could still be with you without any complications arising."

"Ireland. Why did you do that? Why did you go that far?"

"I guess it was for the same reason you forced me and Northern Ireland to join you. We both did this to be physically close to one another. It was all out of love except it was disguised as different emotions."

England took this all in, letting Ireland's words sink in. He still felt guilty for hurting Ireland even though he knew the man forgave him years ago. He was a little surprised to find out that his assumptions were right and that no one was trying to trick him with the dream Ireland. He was also very happy to know that Ireland returned his feelings. At least now, even if the world disagrees to their affair, they can finally be together.

The sound of the pot whistling on the stove took them away from their thoughts. Ireland stood up to tend to the tea, leaving England alone to continue thinking about what his older brother had told him.

A sudden thought went through England's head as he started to remember the day Ireland gave him a dream catcher for Christmas. He then recollected the time Ireland came over when he was sick. He wasn't sure whether or not that was a dream since he was pretty delirious during his sickness.

Ireland shortly returned with two cups filled with tea, giving one of the cups to England before sitting down. After taking a sip, England decided to ask Ireland the thoughts that were weighing on his mind at the moment.

"Say, Ireland? Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, England."

"When you gave me that dream catcher years ago, did you do anything to it? Maybe cast a spell on it?"

"Only to do what it was meant for," Ireland said as he took a sip of his tea, "To make sure that anything that wishes to cause you harm or nightmares stays trapped in its net."

"Was that to make sure that, if you missed a night, I would still have good dreams?"

Ireland reached up and ruffled England's messy blond hair. A small smile spread across his face as he chuckled lightly under his breath.

"Right again, England."

The Brit blushed lightly as he remembered the last time Ireland showed him this sort of affection. It may have been the Ireland in his dreams but it was still his older brother.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"What would that be?"

"Did you... ever visit me when I was sick? More specifically during World War 2?"

"Yes, actually. Do you not remember it?"

"Well, I thought it was a dream when it happened because I thought you didn't want anything to do with me. But, after seeing you look frail and weak, I started to wonder if maybe it wasn't a dream at all."

"It happened. I came over and then you started acting strange, and gave me odd requests."

"So, you mean-"

"You asked me to lay in bed next to you and then asked for a kiss."

England's face became red as he realized what he did years ago. Needless to say, he was quite embarrassed.

"Oh my God! I can't believe I did that!" England exclaimed as he hid his face.

"England! It's okay! That was a long time ago!"

"That doesn't change the fact that I actually asked you to do those things!"

"But we did that all the time in the dreams!"

"But I didn't know it was really you until now!"

"England, calm down!"

Ireland wrapped his arms around England and pulled him into a warm hug. He slowly started to calm down into the embrace, enjoying the affection he was receiving again. It was real this time. This wasn't a dream anymore. He was really being held by Ireland. He was being loved by Ireland.

The Irishman rubbed his little brother's shoulder and arm in an attempt to calm his nerves. He felt England relax in his arms, growing less tense. After comforting him for a few more moments, Ireland stopped and asked, "Better?" England nodded before resting his head against Ireland's chest.

"At least no one knows about that," England said to reassure himself.

"Actually... someone does know..."

England raised his head to look up at Ireland. By the look his older brother was giving him, he knew he wasn't going to like this.

"Who knows?"

"France."

"What?!"

"It's not what you think England! Let me explain!"

"Why would you tell him anything?! Don't you know he's the most perverted nation in the world?!"

"Yes, I know this! But let me explain-"

"Out of all the countries you could've told about this, you just _had_ to talk to the bloody, perverted fro-" Ireland clapped his hand over England's mouth to silence him.

"England, France is my best friend. I had to talk to someone about my feelings and I couldn't always rely on my leprechauns, so he was the only one I could turn to. But don't think that I made a bad decision. France kept his word when I told him to never speak of this to anyone. Trust me on this."

Ireland removed his hand from England's mouth and waited to hear his answer.

"So, France knows everything?"

"Yes. Everything."

"Does he know about the dreams?"

"He doesn't quite understand it but he knows."

"He knows about you visiting me and what happened on your visit?"

"Actually, he was watching from outside the door the entire time."

"What?!"

"I know, I know. I didn't feel comfortable with it either. He was the one who suggested I visit you in the first place."

"That doesn't give him a right to watch!"

"I'll admit, I think he went a little far on that."

"You think?"

Ireland ruffled England's hair again in another attempt to calm his brother down. His dark green eyes shifted over to the window, where he paused to concentrate on the view outside.

"It stopped raining," Ireland stated. England looked behind him at the window to see that the rain had indeed stopped.

"I guess I should be going home," England said in a low voice. He didn't want to go home yet. He'd rather stay with Ireland for a little longer.

"Not yet. There's something I want to show you."

Ireland stood up as he took England's hand. England followed his brother upstairs and down the hall into his bedroom. He stood in the middle of the room and watched as Ireland walked over to his night stand and pull out the drawer. The red-head immediately found what he was looking for and called England over. England sat next to Ireland on the bed, curious to know what Ireland wanted to show him.

Ireland pulled his hand out of the drawer, pulling out a thick, dark green piece of fabric. It wasn't until England looked at it a little closer that he noticed the small indentions along the edges. The useless attempts Ireland made to try and cut it off from his neck. It was Ireland's old collar that bounded him to the United Kingdom.

"Is that-"

"Yes, it is."

"Why? Why did you keep that? After all these years... why is that still in your possession?"

"To remember."

"Remember what? I thought you hated being under my rule."

"I did. But, there were still plenty of memories that were good. I didn't always have bad moments in the United Kingdom."

"I still don't understand. You spent a whole century trying to get that off but you still hang on to it today."

"I know. It's strange to me too. I guess it's sort of like a momento of my time there. I can't throw it away but I don't want it around my neck again."

They sat there in silence, reminiscing on the past. England had to admit that Ireland wasn't always frustrated and upset during his stay in the United Kingdom. There were several moments where he'd crack a smile in his direction and be a little bit joyous with him. It was mostly during celebrations or when they'd drink together. It was near the time of the war for Ireland's independence that his older brother stopped being so cheerful.

"England."

The blond turned his head to look over at Ireland. The older nation put his hand over England's again and gave it a soft, reassuring squeeze.

"Let's start over," Ireland said to him in a calm but gentle voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I messed up when I tried to be in a relationship with you. I was afraid of what everyone would say once they found out. I was also scared that everyone would think my independence was a waste of time. I mean, I had just split away from you and when I started the dreams, it was way too soon for us to be friendly again.

"But now I'm not afraid anymore. I don't care what anyone thinks about us. So, I'm asking if we can start over from the beginning. We can do this the right way without any worries or fears."

England looked at him and saw the desperation and hope in his brother's eyes. He could also see the guilt and remorse that seemed to make his eyes darker. It seems that even Ireland had been feeling some regret over the years as well.

England gripped the Irishman's hand as though something would happen if he didn't hold onto it.

"Of course. It's all I've ever wanted."

"England..." Ireland smiled before cupping his little brother's cheek and leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips. It was longer than a peck but still too short.

"You don't know how happy this makes me," Ireland whispered.

"You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Then, I guess I'll have to learn, won't I?"

"Never leave me again."

"I promise, England. I won't hurt you like that again."

"Ireland?"

"Yes?"

"Can you call me deartháir beag like you use to?"

"Of course. Anything for my deartháir beag."

England didn't go home until many hours later. He and Ireland were too happy to separate from each other again. But, they both knew that their brothers would become suspicious, so England had to leave eventually. But, it wasn't too bad, they realized. After all, the only thing that separates them now is a channel.


	10. New Year, New Beginnings

It's the coming of the new millenium and almost every nation is at America's New Years party. But, little does everyone know, there's a small surprise awaiting everyone at the stroke of twelve. And it's not the realization that the world's coming to an end!

This is the final chapter so I hope you guys enjoy it! It was really fun writing this story and I thank everyone for sticking with me this far!

* * *

"Seamus! We're going to be late!"

"Just a minute! I had to find my jumper!"

"Will you hurry up?"

"Okay! Okay! I'm right here!"

Ireland walked into the main room while pulling on his dark green jumper. His glasses sat in a crooked position on his nose and his hair was messier once he pulled his head through the collar. He fixed his glasses and what bit of hair would stay down to appear the least bit presentable.

"Does this look okay?" Ireland asked once England had looked him up and down. Ireland was wearing one of his old outfits from his time in the United Kingdom: a dark green jumper, brown trousers, a white button up shirt, and brown dress shoes.

"You look fine. Can we go now?"

"I never thought I'd hear you worry over going to one of America's parties."

"I was 10 minutes late to his Christmas party one year, and he never stopped mentioning it when I was around. I don't want to give him another reason to say I'm always late."

"Even though I'm the one who's late to all the meetings."

It was New Years Eve and America decided to invite England and his brothers to his 'party of the century.' It was the coming of the new millenium and everyone was awaiting the arrival. Although, there were rumors going around that the year 2000 would be the end of the world. Some countries such as Japan and Germany stayed at home to prepare for the coming apocalypse. Other countries that have been through the first 1000 years already knew not to trust such hearsay. Even though America believed in it, he decided to throw the party anyways. 'If we're gonna die, at least we'll die having a good time,' he said.

Since the Atlantic Ocean made it slightly difficult for travel, England and his brothers took a plane to America's house and stayed at a hotel. Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland stayed in one room while England and Ireland stayed in another. Honestly, this didn't surprise their brothers because they knew of their relationship.

Not long after Ireland and England began dating, the word spread throughout Europe. It started with France and then he told Prussia and Spain. Prussia told Germany, Austria, and Hungary. Spain told Romano, Belgium, and Italy. After that, most of Europe was aware of the incestuous relationship. Once Russia found out, the Asian countries and Belarus caught wind of it (though, this only further motivated Belarus into 'asking' Russia to marry her).

Eventually, the other members of the United Kingdom heard about the relationship and decided to confront them about it. They were a little off about it at first, seeing as the two still have a close relation to each other as brothers. After some time and thinking, Scotland and Wales consented to their relationship. Northern Ireland was all right with the decisions Ireland made at this point so he accepted the relationship as well.

However, this didn't mean the brothers decided to suddenly become nicer towards England. They still made fun of him and said rude things to him. They didn't refrain from doing this in Ireland's presence and told him they'll never stop doing it. It was something Ireland had to accept.

Ireland and England met up with their brothers and walked over to America's house to join the party. Once there, Scotland and Northern Ireland went over to the bar to have a drink. Wales ran off to talk to several of the other nations in the room. England and Ireland sat on the couch and watched everyone as they enjoyed the other's company.

It wasn't long before America came up to them with a beer in his hand, and a huge grin on his face.

"What are you two doing sitting around like that? This is a party! Not a funeral!"

"Maybe we want to sit here, Alfred!" England yelled in agitation. Ireland gave England's hand a reassuring squeeze before shooting the American a smile.

"All right, Freddy Boy! Do you want to dance?"

"Not if you keep calling me that!"

Freddy Boy was Ireland's nickname for America when he was still England's colony. America never told Ireland what the 'F' in his name stood for, so Ireland took it upon himself to give him one: Freddy. Later on, he thought it would be cuter to add on boy and address him as 'Freddy Boy.' Ireland would call America this name whenever the situation allowed it. Usually, Ireland will only say this from time to time and only to tease America.

Ireland chuckled before standing up in front of the American. He bent down and gave England a kiss on the cheek before saying, "I'll be back after a few songs."

"Have fun."

Ireland ruffled England's hair before going to the dance floor with America. The British nation watched them dance, becoming easily distracted by their movement. He was so caught up in their dancing that he didn't notice France walk up and sit down next to him on the couch. That was, until the Frenchman spoke.

"So, how are you lovebirds getting along?"

England looked over at his enemy to see the long-haired man wearing his usual smirk, and holding a wine glass in his hand. England looked back at his older brother dancing with Italy and Prussia to a different song.

"We're doing quite fine, Francis. Not that it should concern you in any way."

"Ah, do you forget that I'm Seamus' best friend? He tells me everything." France leaned closer to England's ear and whispered, "Everything."

England pushed France away softly, showing his discomfort for having the perverted nation so close to him.

"I'm sure he doesn't tell you _everything_," England replied to France's previous comment. France raised an eyebrow and his smirk widened as a sudden thought entered his mind.

"Oh? What do you think Seamus doesn't tell me?"

"A lot of things. Our morning routine, what we're doing, important dates-"

"Sex?"

England quickly looked at France and gave him a disgusted look. He was hoping he'd misheard him but, knowing France, it was always exactly as he heard.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you think he leaves that out in our conversations?"

"I would hope-" England stopped himself once he saw the smirk on France's face. He soon realized what the long-haired nation was trying to do.

"Oh, no. I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."

"Oh, what ever do you mean, Arthur?"

"You're trying to get me to admit that Ireland and I are having sex, aren't you?"

France's smirk became bigger as England finished his sentence. The Englishman gave his enemy a cross look before saying, "I didn't _say_ we were having sex, I merely stated what you were thinking."

"Sure you were, Arthur."

"You bloody-"

"Hey you two!" Ireland exclaimed as he ran up to his younger brother and best friend. The red-head looked a little exhausted from dancing.

"Seamus, make him leave," England said, voicing out his annoyance towards France.

"What happened this time?" From many years of watching the two fight, Ireland always had to be the peace keeper between them (though, peace wasn't restored until after the two were far apart from each other).

"Francis was-"

"Seamus, don't you two have sex?" France interrupted England, only further irritating him. Ireland sighed before sitting down between the two in an attempt to keep them from fighting.

"I thought I already told you, Francis. What Arthur and I do in our private life is none of your business."

"Still, do you do anything at all? Even a little groping here and there?"

England was about to yell something when Ireland covered his mouth to hush him. He knew the French nation always had a way of making England mad.

"Francis, if I tell you something, will you at least leave us alone for the night?"

"That depends..."

Ireland leaned in and whispered something to France that raised his interest. His smirk grew bigger once more as he rose from his spot on the couch, wine glass still in hand.

"Well, I'll see you and Eyebrows in the new millenium!" was all France said as he walked off in the direction of the kitchen. England looked over at Ireland with a disappointed expression on his face.

"You didn't actually tell him anything, did you?" England asked.

"No. But I gave him a reason not to bother us."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him Canada might be feeling awfully lonely by himself in the kitchen."

"How did you know Canada was in the kitchen?"

"I saw him in there talking to Cuba a minute ago. They might still be in there since I'm not sure what else they'll do at this party."

"Except Canada will be too busy doing something else."

A sudden thought went through England's mind as he realized what this could only mean.

"Oh, that poor boy..."

"Well, they _have_ been dating for a while now."

"They have? This is the first I'm hearing of this."

"Oh, I guess because France told me and America probably failed to mention it to you."

"That loud mouth, arrogant fool? He probably doesn't even know they're going out yet."

"Probably not."

Hours passed by with the party still raging on. England would refuse every dance offer Ireland asked, saying he would never dance to such boisterous music. Ireland drank plenty of whiskey but made sure England didn't drink too much. He told England he wanted to ask him something important later that night that required him to be sober. England wasn't sure what Ireland wanted to ask but his curiosity increased by each hour.

Soon, it was five minutes before midnight and every nation in the room was around the clock, counting down to the new millenium. Several of the nations were fearing of the coming apocalypse while many others were excited to be around for another 1,000 years. There were even couples in the room that were hoping to give each other a kiss at the strike of twelve, hoping for another successful year together.

Ireland held England's hand as they awaited the coming millenium. It was always exciting to welcome a new year and leave the previous one behind them. There was a whole new year for them to become closer, to earn good luck, and to try and get along with the other countries.

Finally, as the last minute ticked away, the nations started counting off the seconds to the new year:

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, ONE! Happy New Year!"

Everyone cheered and rejoiced as the year 2000 was finally reached. Couples kissed, some countries toasted their drinks, some nations threw up their hands in good spirits, and several others let out a sigh of relief that the world did not end.

Ireland kissed England on the cheek while wrapping his arms around the island nation's waist. England blushed lightly at Ireland's display of affection, hoping his brothers weren't around to tease them.

"I know how you hate clichés but I just had to," Ireland whispered.

"Well, I guess I can understand that..."

"You're so adorable when you're shy, Deartháir Beag."

"Shut up!"

"Ah! Which reminds me..."

Ireland grabbed England's hand and led him to the little bar in the corner of the living room. Ireland then stepped onto a chair, stood up on the counter, picked up two glasses, and clang them together repeatedly until everyone in the room looked over at him. Only someone like Ireland could be able to cling two glasses against each other and not break them. Once Ireland had everyone's attention, he stepped down onto the chair, almost getting off the counter.

"Everyone! I have a huge announcement to make!"

"Seamus? What are you doing?"

"You'll see..."

Ireland got off the chair and faced England, blocking the crowd out of his thoughts. Scotland and Northern Ireland were sitting in the chairs next to them, staring at the two in curiosity. Wales had managed to break through the crowd to the front to see what was going on. America was also wondering about the sudden silence and wanted to see what it was Ireland had to say. France stayed within the crowd of nations, his arms around Canada. He already knew what this was about.

"England, there was a time when I was a part of you as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. Those were mainly hard times for me as I didn't want to be bounded to you in such a way. But, now that I'm independent again and have pursued a relationship with you, I've decided to be bounded to you again. Only... I wish for us to be connected in a different way..."

Ireland kneeled before England, reached into his pocket, and produced a small black box. Everyone was straining to see what was in Ireland's hands, but the other members of the United Kingdom, America, and France could clearly see the box. There was no doubt as to what was inside.

Ireland opened the small box to reveal a silver wedding band. It shined in the light for the other countries to see. They started to whisper to each other in anticipation and excitement.

"England, I wasn't given a choice to become a part of you years ago, but I'm giving you a choice to become a part of me. England, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, will you become my husband?"

There was an eerie silence through the house as everyone strained to hear England's answer. England was utterly shocked to learn that Ireland wanted to be married to him. He never thought that the red-head would want to be connected to him again after his time in the United Kingdom.

England realized this most likely wasn't something Ireland's boss put him up to. If this was a political affair, Ireland wouldn't make this so public. So, this could only be Ireland's idea.

England blushed lightly as he stared down at Ireland's hopeful, smiling face. He could see that Ireland was willing to do this. The older nation knew full well that doing this would connect them once more but not as brothers this time. This is a commitment between two countries that are willing to be united as one.

"I accept," England said a little too quietly for everyone to hear. Ireland heard him loud and clear but knew everyone else wanted to hear his answer too.

"I'm sorry, I don't think the rest of us heard you. Could you say that again?"

"I said yes you bloody git!"

The whole room erupted into a roar of cheering as the two island nations embraced each other. The rest of the United Kingdom gave Ireland a small smile for having the courage to ask their youngest brother's hand in marriage. Even America congratulated them in the upcoming marriage by offering them some beer. France smiled in content at seeing his best friend and enemy finally coming together. Canada tried looking over the crowds to see what happened.

"Francis?" the curious Canadian asked, "What happened?"

"Ireland and England are getting married."

"Ah... I hope they're both happy..."

"So do I, Matthieu. So do I..."

* * *

The United Kingdom and Ireland made it back to the hotel at around 2:00 in morning. Most of them were drunk and stumbling at every step they took. They eventually made it to their rooms and wished everyone a good night and a happy new year.

Before going into the room, Northern Ireland looked over at England before shouting, "Remember! I get to help pick out your dress!"

"Shut up you wanker!"

England tried to run up to Northern Ireland and attack him, but Ireland caught the Brit by the shirt collar to stop him. England fell back slightly, Northern Ireland laughing at him before disappearing into his room. Ireland unlocked their door and dragged England inside, leading them to their bedroom.

"I told you to take it easy, Deartháir Beag," Ireland chuckled as he helped England remove his sweater vest.

"No... You said that _before_ you proposed to me..."

"Okay, I did say that. But that didn't mean you had to drink like a madman right after."

"It was a celebration... You're suppose to drink at a celebration..."

"I should've never told you that..."

Ireland had managed to undress England before putting on his pajamas. He then led the blond-haired nation to their bed before putting on pajamas as well. They laid next to each other, Ireland wrapping his arms around England. England was slowly drifting off into a drunk induced sleep while Ireland was coming down from a buzz.

"Seamus...?" England muttered.

"Yes, Deartháir Beag?" Ireland spoke in a soft voice.

"Do you really want to do this?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"You didn't want to be bounded to me before."

"Is that what you're thinking about?"

England didn't answer, causing Ireland to lift his chin and look him straight in the eyes.

"Deartháir Beag, don't think about those times. I love you and I really want to be with you in this way."

"But what if you change your mind? What if you split away again?"

"I told you I would never hurt you again, remember? I never break my promises."

"You swear on it?"

"I swear. If I break this promise, you can be the first one to deliver a blow to my face."

"You bet your arse I will..."

Ireland chuckled softly before running his fingers soothingly through England's hair.

"Go to sleep, Deartháir Beag. Love tú..." (T: I love you...)

"I love you too, Seamus..."

England was truly happy inside. He was so glad that this wasn't a dream. He was finally able to be with Ireland and now they're getting ready to be married. This was all he'd ever asked for and more.

Ireland was so happy to be close to his youngest brother again. He didn't have to sneak around and creep into England's dreams at night. He didn't have to relive the reoccurring nightmare of being killed by England on the night they ended the Irish War for Independence. He didn't suffer as much anymore because his little brother's love kept him going through the tough times. Ireland was in paradise, despite the other hardships of his country.

The year 2000 was a year of new beginnings. The countries were preparing for what the new millenium held for them. Several countries were much wiser towards rumors of upcoming apocalypses. Ireland and England were preparing for a wedding and a long life together as lovers. The year 2000 held promises of new beginnings and better experiences for the countries as another century passed for the world.

* * *

If you don't understand what Ireland's reoccurring nightmare is about, it's the dreams he's been having since he left the United Kingdom. Refer to chapter 8 when he says he's been having such horrible nightmares while England has great dreams. This is also why he says it's "already happened" because it's about the night his war for independence ended. If you need more details, read the first chapter to my story _I Love You, Deartháir Beag_ and imagine the scene where Ireland removes his collar.


End file.
